


now and always.

by houseofthedragon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Another resurrection fic you guessed it, Daario Naharais/Daenerys Targaryen, Eventual Smut, F/M, God I hate D&D, Hurt/Comfort, I can't believe boatbaby will never be canon, Jon and Daenerys have a daughter, Original Character(s), Post 8x06, definitely not stark or tyrion friendly, might not be stark friendly, scratch that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-03-10 02:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18929419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthedragon/pseuds/houseofthedragon
Summary: Daenerys has been resurrected by Kinvara and is enjoying a peaceful and quiet life in Essos with her daughter, trying her hardest to forget about the horrors of the past. All comes crashing down when said past comes back to haunt her in the form of the curly-haired man who put a dagger through her heart.





	1. DANY

**Author's Note:**

> i cannot believe we'll never see dany as a mother. like. wow. we were baited. time to fix that.

_“Drogon was last seen in the East, heading for Volantis.”_

+

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

“Ma! Ma! Look what I found.”

Daenerys rises from her slumber in a startle, heart leaping at the sound of her daughter’s voice. She never gets used to Rhaella’s playful screaming, it always scares her—driving her to dark thoughts, like that of her little princess being in danger.

But Rhaella is far from having been harmed. She runs in Daenerys’ bedchambers, bright eyes twinkling in humour and her smile as bright as the sun outside. Daenerys’ heartbeat falls into a normal pattern. “My love,” she whispers groggily, “what is that?”

“A flower,” Rhaella exclaims.

Dany chuckles. “Oh, is it now?”

“I got it for you,” she continues and places it on Dany’s lap. Daenerys looks down, touching the blue petals and laughing at how badly it was ripped from the soil as the roots are crooked and immediately dirty her white sheets. She can’t complain, though, not when her daughter is looking at her with big, violet eyes filled with pride.

“I love it,” Daenerys says, half-lying. “Thank you darling. But you should not be playing too much outside. Look how dirty your dress got.”

Rhaella juts her lower lip out. “So I can’t go again?”

“Not today. Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes. I was just eating. Until people came.”

Daenerys frowns. “What, who came? I—”

Just then, Daenerys looks up in time to find Kinvara at her doorstep, forehead crinkled in worry.

Daenerys touches Rhaella’s head and asks her to give them a moment alone.

“What is it?” Daenerys asks, pulling her robe around her tightly. “Who’s here?”

“We don’t know how he got here…we don’t know how he could’ve possibly known—”

Daenerys’ chest tightens. _No._ “Who is it?” she asks, voice breaking, but she knows. She already knows. Feels it deep within her bones.

“It’s Jon Snow.”

+

He is as pretty as she remembers.

The fact that this is her very first thought upon seeing him angers her. He killed her. Betrayed her. Yet the only coherent thought in her mind when she watches Jon walk toward her is how beautiful he is. A little rough around the edges and tired, but still as handsome as the man she’d fallen in love with.

But then anger rises and washes over every positive feeling. And disgust. And _pain._ Pain so vivid it feels physical, as if the wound he left on her chest is slowly opening up again and bleeding. He can’t even meet her eyes. He is looking down, gaze fleeing hers.

When he stops in front of her door, Daenerys notices Tormund behind him.

Slowly, Jon lifts his head, brown irises clashing with violet.

A lifetime of emotions courses between them.

His breathing turns shallow, lips parting. “How?” is all he whispers.

“Who told you?” she asks.

Jon’s eyes dart to her chest, where he stabbed her, and his eyes darken. “Sansa,” he finally answers, meeting her gaze once more. “Sansa said there were rumours of a silver-haired woman with purple eyes in Essos….”

Daenerys bristles. “When is she going to send her men to kill me?”

“She—”

“Or is it you that she sent?” Daenerys continues, unflinching. “What will it be this time, Longclaw?”

Jon has the nerve to look offended by her words, dark brows furrowing. “Sansa did not send anyone to kill you. She never said it was really you. But I had to come—I had to…” he trails off, voice shaky with barely contained emotions. “How are you alive?”

Daenerys glances at Kinvara next to her. Jon follows her gaze and inhales deeply at the realisation that she’s been resurrected. Just as he once had. Daenerys wonders if that was his purpose, being brought back to life to murder her.

She hates thinking back on it. Hates how it still affects her, even if it’s been five years. She’s a different person now. She has put the past behind her—willed herself to forget about everything that happened. And now _he_ is here, in front of her, and it’s all coming back to her in shock waves.

“I do not plan to ever go back to Westeros,” she states, “I do not have armies or forces. I do not plan to be a threat to your brother, King Bran the Broken. I just wish to live here…in peace. I don’t know why you came so far but you have to leave. Unless you plan to finish what you started.”

Tormund is the one who answers this time, as Jon looks more and more horrified and guilt-stricken after every word she utters. She wishes she could feel something but there’s only a void where her heart used to be. He was in that heart of hers, invaded every part of it. Until he killed her. Now there’s nothing. “We’ve travelled a long way, your Gra—”

“I am not your Queen,” she cuts him off right away. "I am not a Queen."

“Daenerys,” Tormund corrects himself, “This man did everything he could to come see you for himself. He regretted killing you from the moment he did it. He was miserable and pained and—”

Daenerys scoffs. “And how do you think I felt?” she snaps. Eyes finding Jon’s again, Daenerys schools her face into nonchalance. “How do you suppose I felt when I awoke, realising that it wasn’t just a nightmare—that the man I loved the most in the world put a knife in my heart when I was kissing him, when I was hoping to rule with him?”

“Rule?” Jon retorts. “You murdered thousands of innocents, Daenerys.”

Daenerys’ face heats up. “You left me when I was the most vulnerable. I lost Missandei, I lost Rhaegal…Varys was poisoning me, your family was planning my downfall, I lost my armies for you. I lost so much for you. _Everything_ I did was for you and all you did in return was push me away.”

“I needed time,” he argues.

“You didn’t give me time, though. You _killed_ me,” she repeats and this time, her voice does crack. Her fingers shake, mask falling. She holds back the tears as well as she can—but he doesn’t. His eyes fill up with tears and Jon does nothing to stop them from falling. “You were manipulated into killing me by a man who then sent you into exile. Tyrion used you to get what he wanted and then tossed you aside to rot with your new titles.” She grits her teeth. “ _Kinslayer,_ ” she breathes out and Jon exhales a shuddering breath. “ _Queenslayer_.  _Oathbreaker._ Which one is your favourite?”

Jon’s face falls, as if she has hit him.

Daenerys feels something twist inside her. The feeling is ugly. She wishes he never came here—wishes she didn’t have to see his face again. Now wounds are re-opened and she wonders how long they’ll take to heal again. Five more years? Oh. How is she ever going to forget the way he’s looking at her now, as if she is the one who twisted a blade in his chest?

“Ma.”

The word cuts through the silence and when Rhaella appears behind her, clutching at her skirts, Daenerys’ eyes snap back up to find Jon looking down at her— _his_ —daughter.

Maybe if her child had silver hair like her, it’d be easy to explain. To lie.

But her sweet, innocent girl has curly black hair that flows down past her shoulders. Braided hair with flowers and pins.

In just one instant, everything falls apart around her.

+

She doesn’t live in a castle.

Her house doesn’t have hundreds of rooms.

But she has a spare one. One her servants haven’t cleaned in so long there’s dust on every imaginable surface.

She leads Jon and Tormund in.

“It’s not much,” she says, “and you’ll have to share a bed.”

Tormund drops his things and looks between the two of them. The atmosphere is thick with unspoken tension. “Uh…I need to go—well, it’s actually—”

“Leave, Tormund,” Jon says directly to put him out of his stuttering misery.

The ginger man nods and hurries outside.

“Five years,” Jon sneers the moment his friend has left. “She is _five_.”

“I didn’t know before…before I was brought back,” she explains calmly. “I don’t even understand how it’s possible, given that I’ve died and—and Drogon took some time to bring me here so how could she…” she trails off, shaking her head. It’s impossible to explain why _she_ is here in the first place, so how can she possibly begin to talk about Rhaella?

“But still. Five years, Daenerys. My child.”

“How many times must I remind you that you killed me?” she asks in exasperation. “I couldn’t—I did not want you in my new life anymore.”

“What about her?” he asks, “doesn’t she get to choose?”

“And if she chose you, how would that change anything? You were sent to the Wall as a punishment by your King. Your brother. How was I going to find you without putting my life and my daughter’s life in danger?”

“Our.”

“What?” She is confused.

Jon looks up at her, eyes cold and filled with remorse. “ _Our_ daughter,” he says.

After a pregnant pause, she tells him softly, “Her name is Rhaella.”

“Your mother,” he reflects quietly.

She looks down at her hands, her fingers twitching restlessly. “I told her about you. Not about the…killing. I told her that you had to go away on a mission.” Daenerys smiles to herself. “She loves heroic stories. I told her you were a hero.”

Jon sits on the bed, staring at her brokenly. “I’m no hero,” he rasps. “You know it.”

She does not contradict him. Or agree with him.

“I want to stay,” he says suddenly.

Daenerys shakes her head immediately. “I’ve started a new life, I—”

“She’s my daughter too,” he persists, “I wish to know her.”

“You cannot just show up here and demand this of me. This—” She gestures mindlessly with her hands, head racing, “This is a lot to take in. You being here. Rhaella’s future. How that’ll affect my life—our lives.”

She knows a part of her is being selfish but she cannot help it. She’s been in this bubble for five years now, has taken time to heal by herself and her daughter. He can’t come here and ruin everything. He’s another lifetime, another story. She’s no longer the woman he knew. The woman he killed.

“Think about it. Please, Dany.”

She hisses a breath in surprise. “Don’t call me that,” she incredulously states.

Jon’s eyebrows pinch together. “Call you what?”

“You just called me Dany,” she says, throat constricting.

He gulps. “I’m sorry.”

Daenerys blinks, breaking away from his intense gaze. Gods. He’s been here for less than two hours and she is already a whirlwind of emotions, each more overwhelming than the last. “I’ll think about what you said. You should get some sleep. I’ll have food brought up for you and Tormund.”

Whatever else he wishes to say, he doesn’t. Jon nods. “Thank you.”

“Daenerys.”

They both turn around at the sound of a new voice.

Dany finds Daario leaning against the doorframe, a frown on his face.

“Daario,” she says. “You’re back.”

Daario looks behind her, lip curling in fury. “Is that who I think it is?” he growls.

Daenerys shakes her head. “There’s no need for this,” she warns. “Jon is not here to harm me.”

Daario doesn’t take his eyes off him. “You shouldn’t be here alone with him,” he states. “ _Why_ are you here alone with him, Daenerys, after what he did?”

“We were talking about Rhaella.” Daenerys approaches Daario. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Daario finally tears his gaze away from Jon. He looks at Dany for a moment before taking an abrupt step forward and planting a kiss on her lips. Daenerys freezes, unable to respond, painfully aware of Jon’s eyes boring into the back of her skull. He pulls away easily and quickly enough. “I’ll be in our chambers,” he says before leaving.

Daenerys is scared to turn back around. She doesn’t even know why. She owes him no explanation. Straightening her back, she faces Jon again. If he is angry at what he just saw, he doesn’t show it. If anything, she’s never seen his face so emotionless and detached before.

 _It’s been five years and he killed you,_ she berates herself, _he doesn’t feel anything anymore. Why would you believe he would mind seeing you with someone else?_

Before she can say something—what, exactly, she has no idea—Jon looks away from her. “Think about what I told you. I want to know my daughter.”

Daenerys wets her lips. “Yes,” she replies.

That’s all.

After this, she leaves without a goodbye, and a tormented sigh escapes her lips when she is far away from him. His presence unnerves her to an unbelievable extent, the sight and smell of him rattle her already confused mind. She needs to breathe. She needs to gather her thoughts logically and that cannot seem to occur when in the same room as Jon.

Gods be good, she has a feeling her life will never be simple again.


	2. JON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok first things first, let me clarify a few things.
> 
> i don't agree with either jon or dany's characterisations for s8. like. neither of them. these are not jon and dany to me. they were both dumb, one dimensional and their actions made 0 sense to their previous arcs. i can see a lot of people got sensitive because of the last chapter as i was apparently "justifying" dany's actions and vilifying jon...what? of course i don't think her burning down king's landing was justifiable but that was her pov, i reallllly doubt dany would be like "oh okay jonno you betrayed and killed me while kissing me but that's okay let's make up now!" so once again: i don't claim season 8 jon or daenerys. at ALL. this is not a contest to see whose character development got butchered the most, imo both did. but this story is still based after the events of s8 so sadly i'm gonna have to try and make some sense out of dumb and dumber's writing the best i can. which, if you don't like, then once again no one is forcing you to read. 
> 
> as for the very sensitive topic of daario in this fandom...i put him in the relationship tags for a reason, so you can peacefully click away and ignore this. but some of the brain dead people on here still choose to be petty in the comments for some odd reasons. this is still very much a jonerys story, i've never written anything other than jonerys anyway so i don't get why people would think differently but whatever. hope you enjoy this chapter.

This night when he dreams of Daenerys, it doesn’t come as a surprise to him. He’s dreamed—or, had nightmares, if accuracy is required—about her almost every single night since that eventful day in King's Landing that decided his fate. And every time, it was the same thing, his blade piercing her flesh and the look of horror on her face when she finally felt it. Sometimes, she’d say some last words to him though, unlike what actually happened. _I knew you’d betray me,_ she said in one of the dreams. _You know nothing, Jon Snow,_ she had whispered in another.

Yet, he’s never dreamed of her the way he does tonight.

They’re back on that boat to White Harbour, many a year ago, and she’s tangled in his arms, lips pressed to his neck.

“Don’t betray me,” she tells him softly.

“Never,” he answers.

When he awakes, Jon sighs heavily. There is a deep ache residing in the pits of his stomach as he covers his face with his hands. Being here—so close to her, yet somehow the farthest they’ve ever been—is unsettling in countless ways.

He gets up from his bed and laces his boots on. For a moment, Jon wonders what he is supposed to do for the rest of the day. Wishes he could get inside Daenerys’ mind and know what she plans to do with him. If she wishes him to leave then he will. He owes her this much after having killed her. This is her home now, her life, and he has no right to impose.

But the thought of never seeing his daughter again…

Gods.

 _His_ daughter.

Their child.

He wonders if this is the gods playing some sort of cruel joke on him. Give him a taste of everything he’s ever wanted but not letting him fully have it for himself.

Jon pushes these thoughts in the back of his mind as he looks out the window, breath catching at the sight of Daenerys in her gardens.

Hells is she beautiful.

More so than he remembers. His last memory of her was from that destroyed Throne Room and she had not been the woman he’d fallen in love with back then. She was clad in black and colder than she had ever been. She was every bit of the villainous Dragon Queen everyone painted her to be, not the tender and sweet woman he had found under all the Targaryen colours.

And now she is that woman again. The young girl he had learned to discover through many nights on that boat within long conversations and heated kisses. She looks soft and approachable again, her dresses flimsy and colourful. Yesterday she’d worn a pink gown to greet him and even if the tension between them had been thick enough to be tangible, she was still the loveliest sight he had laid his eyes upon in years.

Today she is wearing a pale blue summer dress, her arms bared to the sunlight and the neckline plunging just a bit too low. Her skin is still as pale as he remembers and, unwittingly, his eyes trace the scar on her shoulder, a childhood injury whose backstory she had recounted to him one night when he put his mouth over it. His chest tightens.

It’s hard for him to cope with the fact that she is still very much the woman he knew and loved—and killed.

Jon can’t take his eyes off her as she picks vegetables and fruits, her brow pinched together as if this is a task of the utmost importance, requiring great precision.

Who would’ve ever thought…the Dragon Queen is now a simple woman, tending to her house, her gardens and her daughter. He wonders what Tyrion would do if he knew about Daenerys. Wonders if he and the rest would try to get rid of her again. The thought is bitter. This time, he won’t do it. And as he watches her tuck a strand of silver hair behind her ear, he hopes with his entire being that they never, ever find her.

She doesn’t braid her hair anymore. _Braids of victory,_ she called them. Now her silver locks are free of tresses and pins, flowing down her back in soft, messy waves. At least he guesses it’s soft. Like it used to be. He shakes his head. He won’t get to verify for himself this time.

Jon stops moving when she suddenly looks up, violet eyes twinkling in the sunlight. And a smile spreads on her face. His breath hitches in his throat, heart momentarily failing to beat. Is she looking at him? But then he realises that her gaze is directed to the window next to his…her own bedroom.

“Is she awake?” she asks loudly.

A male voice responds. “She’s asking to go horse riding.”

Jon steps back, far enough to be hidden in the shadows again.

It’s Daario.

“Not again. Why is she so obsessed with this?” Daenerys huffs playfully.

“She likes adventures. Just like her mother, it seems.”

Jon frowns to himself, walking away from the window, not interested in hearing the end of this delightful conversation between the two of them.

She has redone her life here. With Rhaella. With _him._

Should he have come here at all?

+

She requests to have lunch with him alone.

Tormund teasingly tells Jon to work his charms on her (again) and Jon rolls his eyes, reminding him that she hates him now. And he…well, he doesn’t quite know what he feels for her. Too many things, each more complicated than the other.

“You have a beautiful home,” he tells her in an effort to begin a conversation, cutting through the meat and bread on his plate. He keeps his gaze focused on his food, on the wooden table, never on her. Never on her eyes.

She thinks before she answers. It’s obvious that they are no longer comfortable around each other, for every word she says seems to be calculated. “Thank you. I tried my hardest to give Rhaella a place she feels safe and loved and the opposite of what I had to endure as a child.”

“She is,” he says. “Safe and loved, I mean. Rhaella seems very happy.”

Daenerys does not reply to that. “What about you?”

Jon is taken aback by the query and is forced to catch her gaze for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“How have you been?”

“I…I’ve been good. Okay. I think.” Jon scowls to himself. He’s gotten even worse at casual talks. “Tormund’s been there for me in the beginning. It was rough adjusting to that life again.”

Daenerys nods.

“What about Drogon?” Jon blurts, a question he’s been dying to know the answer to.

Daenerys tenses across from him. “He didn’t make it,” she answers, voice quiet.

“I—” Jon shakes his head to himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But—how?”

“You couldn’t have known.” Daenerys inhales deeply. “He died when I was resurrected and Rhaella was born. Just…like that. He was gone. Only death can pay for life, Kinvara told me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologising for something you had no control over?”

Jon doesn’t have an answer to that. So, he continues eating and lets the quietness envelop them once more.

Before he can stop his foolish mouth, he asks, “Daario, is it?” He regrets the misplaced question right away, wishes he could swallow the words but it’s too late. He’s spent too much time with Tormund and the wildlings, he’s starting to forget how to hold back every now and then.

“What do you mean by that?” she asks. “Daario has helped me a lot when I had no one else here.”

Jon shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. But hells, it bothers him. Just a _bit_. “You used to say that he only ever saw you as the Dragon Queen.”

“But he’s still here, isn’t he?” she retorts. “He came to find me. He even offered to avenge me.”

Jon quirks a brow. “Did he now?”

Daenerys narrows her eyes at him. “Yes. But the moment Rhaella was born, I had let go of every bit of remorse I’ve ever had towards anyone.” She breaks the intense staring contest and elaborates, “Daario doesn’t stay around much. But he does his best to keep me hidden and informed about whatever danger could come in our lives at any time. And Rhaella loves him so when he comes by…three or four times a year, it’s always a good and refreshing thing for both of us.”

Jon digs in his food. So they aren’t married, like he initially thought when Daario kissed her yesterday—and said he’d wait in their chambers. Daario is just physical and emotional comfort, it seems. Or maybe more. Who knows if it’ll be more? Maybe she will marry him in the end. After all, the only reason she didn’t was because she wished to be free for marriage alliances in Westeros. But now she is no longer queen of anything so perhaps she will get married. Perhaps she’ll ask him to stay forever rather than just ‘come by’ three or four times a year. Perhaps she wants a bigger family, more children with him—

 Jon assures himself he does not care, that he isn’t here to win her over again, but his trail of thoughts leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Maybe it’s just the food.

“You know, I often think how things would have been different if you’d never walked into that Throne Room back in Dragonstone,” Daenerys reflects.

Jon’s eyes shoot up to meet hers.

She holds his gaze as she continues. “If you never came, I never would’ve gone North. I never would’ve lost the majority of my armies…and on and on.”

Jon places his fork down, tersely nodding. “I was your downfall,” he states icily. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yes,” she answers truthfully, matter-of-factly.

Jon grits his teeth. “What do you want me to tell you, Daenerys? That if I could go back in time I would’ve never come to you?”

“ _Yes_ , Jon, a part of me wishes we could go back in time and never meet each other,” she snarls and it hits him harder than a thousand blades. On a calmer note, she adds, “but then I look at Rhaella and I feel selfish because I don’t think I would have it in me to change a thing.”

 Jon runs a hand tiredly over his face. His conflicting emotions when it comes to this woman will never change, it seems, in this lifetime or in ten others.

“I remember that night on the battlefield in Winterfell. You were surrounded by wights. You were going to get yourself killed.”

“Aye. And you saved me.”

“There was a brief second where I thought to myself, if he dies then I would have no threat left for the Throne. I didn’t have to kill you. I just did not have to save you.”

Jon swallows the lump in his throat. “Why didn’t you? Let me die?”

She never looks away from him when she speaks. “Because I loved you beyond reason. Beyond my quest for the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jon exhales shakily. “But that day…when you were in front of the Throne—everything was destroyed, Daenerys. You were walking in ashes but you smiled like you were in a field of flowers. You didn’t seem to understand what you did, how you became everything you were fighting against.”

“I don’t know what had gotten into me,” she swears, voice wavering, “I heard the bells. But all I saw were my losses. I can still, to this day, hear the sound of Missandei’s head hitting the ground. Or the sound of Rhaegal’s body falling into the water while I was helpless to do a thing. I can still smell the poison Varys had put in my food in every meal I take. All I remember feeling in that moment was fear. It was intoxicating.” She clasps her hands together to prevent them from shaking and Jon notices, understanding that she’s never fully gotten over those ghosts. “And the worst part is I remember not regretting it at all.”

“You didn’t only have fear. I told you I loved you.”

“Saying things and showing them are two different matters.” She frowns at him. “You couldn’t even touch me anymore. Or look at me how you used to. You were disgusted—”

“I was _shocked_ , Daenerys. I was learning to cope with it.”

“And I was suffering, more alone than I’d ever been in my life,” she tells him. “I’m not blaming you for anything anymore but it was what it was. I already lost you at that point, just like I had lost everything else.”

Jon stubbornly disagrees. “You didn’t lose me.”

She gives him a brief, sad smile before dragging her eyes away from his. “I told myself that too. When I looked at the Iron Throne and you came in, I thought I could have it all…with you by my side.” She pauses, her expression distant again. “It was a sweet dream.”

Inadvertently, he reaches across the table for her hand, placing his palm on top of her knuckles. Daenerys looks down where their skins touch and for a while she seems lost in it. He is, too, his heart leaping at the knowledge that he is touching her again. Daenerys. Very alive, her skin still as hot and smooth as he recalls.

When Daenerys meets his eyes again, he can see the pain in them. The pain of the unfairness of it all, of how they ended up here—when they once both believed they were destined for greatness. But now all that remains are the phantoms of a terrible past. When her eyes fill up with tears, she snatches her hands away and stands up abruptly.

He gets up too. “Daen—”

“You should finish your lunch and—and we’ll speak later.”

Flustered and overwhelmed, Daenerys scurries out of the room, leaving him behind to deal with his own thoughts.

+

When Jon leaves the room too, after having collected his thoughts, he is taken aback to find Daario waiting outside, glaring at him.

“Have you been listening?” Jon asks briskly.

“Let me tell you something, King in the North—wait, that’s not you anymore…” Daario clicks his tongue mockingly. “What is it, my lord? No, that cannot be correct. Queenslayer, is it then?”

Jon lets out a bitter chuckle. “Jon will do,” he answers, trying his best not to give him the satisfaction of starting a fight.

“In the five years she’s been here, trying to form a new life after you destroyed her last one, I’ve only ever seen her cry when she told me about you,” Daario drawls. “It happened a lot in the beginning. She would cry over you for days.”

Jon stiffens but listens to him anyway.

“But she’s in a better place now. So for you to come here, where you _don’t_ belong, and make her miserable again…” Daario shakes his head disapprovingly. “You’re nobody anymore, Jon Snow, so if I kill you - like I so badly wished I did five years ago - no one will care. Remember that.”

Jon approaches him slowly. “I would like to see you try,” he informs him through gritted teeth before purposefully bumping his shoulder on his way out.

+

“What do you think of her?”

“Who?”

“I think you know of whom I speak.”

Jon looks at Tormund, remembering the exact conversation he’d once had with Davos. “I do not. Daenerys or Rhaella?”

“I was talking about Rhaella but sure, let me know what you think of your old Queen too. She got prettier, aye?” Tormund lifts his eyebrows at Jon teasingly.

Jon rolls his eyes. “I’m not here to discuss if she’s prettier or not.”

“But she is.”

Jon ignores him. “Daenerys is different now. She’s clearly not the Queen I used to know. She just wants to live her life peacefully.”

“And?”

“And I’m afraid I don’t fit in here,” Jon admits.

“Fuck that! Rhaella is your daughter too. It’s unfair of your silver-haired Queen to expect you not to be a part of your daughter’s life,” Tormund insists.

“I killed her, Tormund, I left her when she was at her lowest and I can’t blame her not to want anything to do with me anymore,” Jon reasons.

“Aye and she isn’t all clean either. What happened in King’s Landing—”

“I know. And _she_ knows,” Jon cuts him off. He doesn’t wish to speak of it again. Bringing it all up once today had been enough. “The difference is she never wanted to find me. I came here by my own will. I can’t force my way into her life. I don’t wish to do that.”

“So what, do we just get going now?”

Jon sighs in frustration. “I don’t know what we do from here.”

“What about your kid? What do you think of her?”

Jon smiles despite himself, remembering the little girl with his hair and her eyes. He wept over it last night, cried at what could’ve been. “She’s beautiful,” Jon says softly. “And so small.”

Tormund chuckles. “She looks just like you.”

Jon feels his chest warm up. “She has Daenerys’ eyes,” he notes. “And her smile, too. The way her nose crinkles up when she laughs, it reminds me so much of when Dany used to—”

Tormund gives Jon a sympathetic look when he cuts himself off.

“My point is,” Jon changes the topic, “I got a semblance of my life back. A chance to start over with you all. It would be selfish of me to take that same thing away from her. If she does not wish for me to interfere in her and Rhaella’s lives here, I won’t.”

+

One last time, he wishes to see his daughter.

He can leave tomorrow, get back to his own life with Tormund, Ghost and the wildlings and sometimes get visits from Sansa, but just this once…he wishes to get a thorough taste of this _other_ life that could’ve happened if the world was fair.

He waits for Daenerys to head out before he walks into the bedchamber she shares with Rhaella. He doesn’t wish for it to be this way, to have to sneak in to see the little black-haired girl but he doubts Daenerys would let him see her otherwise.

Rhaella is on her bed, a doll carefully placed on her lap as she murmurs something to it. When she looks up, Jon wants to cry again. He wants to hold her and never let go, he wants to apologise for not being in her life. He wants… _so_ much. But all he does is stare back at her until she cocks her head to the side in an adorable manner and smiles. “Mother said you’d never return,” she blurts.

Jon smiles, slowly approaching her. “You know who I am?” he asks. He wants to hear her say it. Just once.

“Father,” she says and Jon breathes out in both relief and agony, not having prepared for how hard this one little word would hit him. “I ask about you.”

Jon sits on the edge of the bed, his cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Do you? What did you ask your mother about?”

Rhaella hums pensively. “Where you are…what you do. She says you save the world! Is that true?”

Jon chuckles. “Sure,” he lies. “I’m sorry I could never be here.”

“That’s okay. I have mother and Kinvara. She’s funny. I have friends. I have a goat. Oh and Daario.”

Jon feels a surge of possessiveness rise at the mention of Daario, his mood darkening but he tames it for her sake. She’s innocent. And he has no right to be jealous.

“What’s her name?” Jon asks, touching the doll’s red hair.

Rhaella bites her lower lip. “Red,” she announces proudly.

Jon laughs. “Oh. That’s very…unique.”

“It’s for her red hair,” she discloses.

Jon shakes his head in amusement. “Smart,” he notes.

Rhaella looks at Jon with big, bright, hopeful eyes when she says, “You came on a horse.”

Jon doesn’t understand where this is going yet but nods. “I did. Walking is too tiring. Why?”

Rhaella’s smile widens and Jon only now notices that she misses a front tooth. It somehow makes her more adorable. “I want to learn to ride horses,” she tells Jon, voice filled with excitement. “But ma—”

Jon hears feet shuffling behind him and before he can turn around, he already hears her voice, accusatory and unhappy. “What are you doing here?”

Jon gets back up, coming face to face with Daenerys. He forgets what he is about to say because, _seven hells_ , what is she wearing? A nightgown that is somehow more indecent than the thin dresses she wears during the day. Its colour matches her skin and the silk clings to her curves in a manner that will draw one’s eyes to every imperfection Daenerys does not have.

His tongue feels thick and useless in his mouth and when she crosses her arms over her chest, lips pressed in a thin line of annoyance, his gaze unwittingly drops to her covered nipples straining against the enticing material. Gods be good.

He looks away – with great difficulty – and stammers around a reply. “I was—uh, I saw you leave and—”

“I was getting ready for bed and you saw this as an opportunity to sneak in my room?” she asks, irritated.

“I wanted to see Rhaella,” Jon confesses. “Before I leave.”

Rhaella is the one who speaks up this time. “Leave? Already?”

Jon closes his eyes for a moment, hating the way she sounds dejected when she doesn’t even know him. It seems that she wants to.

Daenerys takes a step closer and Jon meets her eyes again. She looks perplexed. “I didn’t ask you to leave,” she mumbles.

“You did not ask me to stay either.”

She wets her lips thoughtfully. “I need…time,” she says.

“I think we both know that you don’t want me here,” he tells her softly, “I can’t make Tormund wait forever. I don’t wish to be a problem for you, Daenerys. I do not wish to make you unhappy or hurt you. I swear.”

Daenerys watches him closely and in return Jon lets his eyes scan her face. She hasn’t been this close to him in, what, five years now? The last time her face had been this near to his touch, she was dead in his arms. It’s a disturbing thought. Now she’s here again, eyes full of life and pink, plump lips parted in reflection.

Tormund was right, she is somehow prettier now. She seems…liberated.

“Ma,” Rhaella calls out, breaking them apart. “He said he will teach me to ride horses.”

Jon chortles. “I never said that,” he accuses.

Rhaella sticks her tongue out. “You did. _Liar_.”

“Rhaella,” Daenerys says in a half-warning, half-joking fashion. “Manners.”

The little girl juts her bottom lip out. “But I want to _riiiide_!” she whines.

“Alright. Jon will teach you,” Daenerys declares.

Jon’s head snaps back to the mother of his child, whose amethyst eyes are already upon him, an expression of certainty now on her face.

“Will I?” he challenges her, chest filling with hope.  _Please, let this mean what I think it means._

“Yes,” Daenerys answers, “Because he’s staying for a while, my love.”


	3. DANY

“Hold still, Rhaella.”

Her daughter is as bull-headed as she is, like Kinvara and Daario have been saying for a while now. Rhaella twists and whines in Dany’s arms as Daenerys tries her best to tie the laces on the back of her dress.

When she is done, Rhaella turns back to face her with an annoyed look on her pretty face. Daenerys smiles. Her daughter gets more beautiful every single day. She smooths a hand down her braided hair and sighs. “Promise me to be careful,” Daenerys says warningly.

She nods fiercely. “I will. Can I go now?”

Daenerys chews on her bottom lip, a nervous habit. “And remember, back home before it’s too late. Before sunset.”

Rhaella nods exaggeratedly, giddy with excitement.

Daenerys gets up from her sitting position and extends her arm for Rhaella to take her hand, walking out of their bedroom together. She startles at the presence of Jon, leaning against the wall, looking up at the ceiling.

When he hears them approach, he finally straightens his posture and meets Daenerys’ eyes. A small smile curls at his lips. “Daenerys,” he greets.

Dany nods, returning the littlest smile. “Jon.”

He is dressed simply, a white tunic, a leather surcoat thrown over it and matching black trousers. Daenerys has noted that he ditched the fur coat he always had on, perhaps because Essosi weather would make wearing fur a living and burning hell. Or it could be more symbolic than that.

“I still don’t think she should be anywhere near a horse at this age,” Daenerys says, unable to contain the protectiveness she feels over Rhaella. It’s her biggest weakness. Her only weakness.

Jon chuckles and Rhaella groans, as if greatly vexed by her mother's cautious nature.

“Ma! You promised,” her daughter reminds her, tugging at Dany’s hand insistently.

Daenerys rolls her eyes. “I did,” she mutters distastefully. She looks back at Jon, begging him to reassure her in some way.

“It’s not like I’m putting her on a horse and letting it carry her away,” he says in a mocking tone and Daenerys’ eyes widen. She never thought of _that_ but now that he says it!

Jon sees the way her eyes have doubled in size and breathes out a laugh. “Gods, Daenerys. It’ll be fine. We’ll be on the same horse. Nothing will happen.” Jon’s eyes turn sincere. “I swear.”

Daenerys has a hard time letting go of her daughter’s hand and it’s a silly thing, really, because they’ll be just behind the house, riding through the very safe forest. But she fails to control the constant, gnawing fear that one day, somehow, Rhaella will be taken away from her. _Like everything and everyone else._

But she does let go of her little hand. Does let her know freedom and fun and the childhood she in turn never knew. She wants Rhaella to know that the world is not a scary place and sadly she can’t show her that from behind these walls.

Seeing Rhaella take Jon’s hand instead to head out is a strange feeling. Jon seems to think so too. He looks down at their intertwined hands and back up to Daenerys, a thousand words unspoken between the two of them. She blinks, looking away and allows Jon and Rhaella to leave.

 Daenerys watches them from afar, a peculiar emotion tugging at her heartstrings when she sees her daughter look up at Jon with those big hopeful eyes, smiling at him like he is the hero Dany told her he is.

She is so deeply buried in her thoughts that she doesn’t hear Daario approach her from behind.

“ _I swear_ ,” Daario mumbles in a sarcastic tone. “I’m sure you’ve heard these same words from him before. Didn’t work out so well now, did they?”

Daenerys’ daze is broken as she turns to face him. “He is her father,” she states, “I will not take that away from her. Or him.”

Daario lets out a long breath. “Why you choose to trust this man is beyond me. He doesn’t know how long you took to rebuild your life and he just comes back, ready to ruin it.”

“Jon doesn’t want to ruin my life,” Daenerys says, growing impatient with this pointless conversation and the even more pointless jealousy that Daario has expressed regarding Jon, like kissing her the other day just to get a reaction out of Jon. “He came back—”

“For you,” Daario reminds her. “He didn’t know you had a child. He came to Essos for _you_ , Daenerys. And who knows what his real intentions were? Who knows whether he isn’t waiting for the perfect opportunity to kill you again?”

Daenerys shakes her head, choosing not to reply.

“Alright then,” Daario huffs at her difference. “I’m leaving today.” A pause. “Do you want anything for when I next come back?”

She finally meets his eyes again, offering him a soft smile. “Nothing. Thank you for always coming to check on us, Daario. I will never be able to repay you for everything you did for us from the beginning.”

He returns a warm smile. When he leans down, Daenerys angles her face so his lips come in contact with her cheek. Her relationship with Daario has been rocky to say the least.

He’s been her closest friend in her darkest days and helped her cope with her losses and ghosts. He became the emotional support she needed and ofttimes, the physical one too, but she’s always warned him that she doubts she will be capable of love again; other than motherly love, that is. And Daario constantly assures her that he understands and that he doesn’t want anything more.

But there are times she doubts that statement and for his sake, she tries not to let them cross the physical line anymore. She allows a few kisses here and there but that is as far as it’s gone for the past few moons. She isn’t willing to hurt anyone anymore. Her heart and soul might never fully heal from what happened and what she’s done, therefore she finds it unfair to drag someone else down with her.

She hugs Daario one last time before he pulls away. “I’ll come back to you, Daenerys.”

She nods. He always does.

+

 

Daenerys takes a lingering look at the reflecting glass, pulling her headscarf tightly over her head, not a single strand of silver hair spilling out. She considered dyeing her hair in the beginning and Kinvara suggested so as well, proposing to change her entire appearance for protection’s sake. But Daenerys refused. She already lost everything, she won’t let her identity be taken away from her as well.

She puts her gloves on before heading out, finding Tormund perched on a wooden trunk outside her house.

He stands in her presence. “I was about to call you ‘your grace’ again,” he jests.

Daenerys smiles. “Is it that hard to let go of old habits?”

“Aye. It really fuckin’ is.” Tormund groans.

“What does that mean?” she asks conversationally as she shuts the wooden door behind her.

“I was in love with this woman for a long time. And then she chose someone else over me. And now that man’s dead and we’re both alone. But I still think of her.” Tormund breathes out in exasperation. “Love is the hardest habit to let go of.”

Daenerys hums approvingly. And then, she gets a strange idea. “Will you walk with me to the market, Tormund? Seeing as Jon is not here to keep you company and I’m afraid you’re going to be left alone for the rest of the day.”

He looks relieved she asked. “It was getting boring here.”

They depart in silence but soon enough, he’s asking, “Why are you hiding your white hair?”

Daenerys finds his lack of filter refreshing. “I’m not looking to be seen,” she tells him. “Which, considering you two ended up here, I’m failing at doing.”

“It was hard to find you. Most of the people here don’t know you. They say Daenerys Targaryen was killed by a traitor, thank the gods they didn’t know the traitor in question was next to me. It was only pure luck that we ended up finding a crab merchant that told us he knows a girl with silver hair and amethyst eyes who lives nearby. And that too, we couldn’t know for sure if it was really the dragon girl we were looking for. So I would say you’re not doing that bad of a job.”

“Dragon girl,” Dany murmurs.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“No, I know. It’s just been a while since anyone’s associated me with dragons.”

“You still are the dragon girl,” Tormund declares, “you will always be the girl who miraculously brought three dragons in this world. Hells, the second best moment of my life was the day I got to climb on your fuckin’ dragon during that mission beyond The Wall.”

Daenerys lifts an eyebrow teasingly. “Second best moment?”

Tormund smiles. “First one was meeting the big woman.”

“The one you’re still in love with?”

“Even after all these damned years! Couldn’t find a wildling to replace her, I’m tellin’ you.” Tormund shakes his head in amusement. “Just like Jon could not find a pretty wildling girl to replace you.”

Daenerys’ smile immediately vanishes. She looks away from Tormund’s humorous eyes, not knowing how to respond to that.

“What?” he exclaims in a defensive tone. “It’s the truth! I did try to push him into the arms of countless women.”

Daenerys’ embarrassment only grows. “Well…he—I don’t know. He should’ve gone for it, he knew I was...dead.”

“I remember one time he got pissed and had a pretty girl was giving him _the_ eyes all night long. Think it went as far as a kiss. And then he pushed her away and brooded for three long days.” Tormund laughs. “Gods he’ll never change, that one.”

Daenerys presses her lips together, once again feeling uncomfortable at the turn this conversation has taken. She doesn’t _wish_ to know about Jon’s private affairs. It’s been five long years, she knows he’s moved on.

“You know,” Jon’s friend adds quietly, “he was—is very miserable about what he did to you. But I told him it was the right thing to do. You know that, right? That Jon always does the right thing, no matter what it means for him.”

“He did the right thing for the realm,” Daenerys admits slowly. “But you know that I can’t forget what he did to me. What they all did to me.”

“The Starks?”

 Daenerys finds herself nodding. “Jon used to tell me about his family, about how much he loves them. And I tried _so_ hard to make a good impression that day in Winterfell. I tried to fit in with them. But it never worked. I was always cast aside, always seen as the one who didn’t belong—who would _never_ belong, they made sure of that. Especially Sansa.”

“She didn’t trust you from the beginning,” Tormund agrees.

“I know. It was understandable given the reputation of the Targaryens.” She frowns at the irony. “It seems that in the end I maintained that reputation.”

“But you still saved their asses,” he tells her, “All of our asses. There was no reason to be ungrateful for your aid against the Army of the Dead.”

 Daenerys plays with the ends of her scarf thoughtfully, reminiscing how she felt trapped in the walls of Winterfell. “On the saddest days I told myself I still had Jorah. But then I didn’t. I still had Missandei. But then I didn’t.” She refuses to cry over this again but she can’t prevent the lump that rises in her throat. “But the worst part was losing Jon. Because unlike them, he didn’t die. He was still there…but not with me. I had begged him not to tell his brother and sisters anything because I knew it would lead to where it led. But he did it anyway.” Daenerys swallows deeply. “I had been alone all my life but I never felt lonelier than in those moments.”

“I’m sure Jon didn’t know what would happen if he told his family. You knew how he was, he would never be able to lie to them.”

“Of course,” Daenerys mumbles, “He always put his family above all.” She looks away sadly. “But I was his family too.”

Tormund sniffs. “If I’d known you felt so miserable, I would’ve asked you to drink with us during that feast. Nothing a good drink can’t fix.”

She chuckles, feeling lighter once more. “Thank you, Tormund. I appreciate the thought. Five years too late, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

+

The first thing she does when she comes back home is free her head from the cloth wrapped around it, letting her hair loose. It’s too bloody hot in this place to wear headscarves but she feels safer having one on despite the occasional bizarre glances she receives from civilians. Tormund offers to help store everything she bought from the market and Daenerys gladly accepts, a little help never hurts.

But her good mood is dampened when Ilissa—her young handmaiden—informs her that Rhaella and Jon are not back yet.

Daenerys can’t help the jitters that runs through her body. A worried glance outside and she sees that the sun is setting, its last orange rays twinkling. “It’s late,” she says, worry-stricken. “What do you mean they aren’t back?”

“I just drew her bath and I noticed that she was not in her room. Jon is not back either, my lady,” Ilissa says, head bowed.

Daenerys dismisses her and begins to panic. Half her mind is rationalising the situation but the other half, the stubborn and powerful one, is yelling at her for having been stupid enough to let her daughter out of sight.

“They will be back soon,” Tormund says upon seeing her reaction.

Daenerys wishes she could trust Tormund’s words but she has a bad feeling about it all now, a feeling that is slowly worsening as time progresses. Shaking her head, she decides, “I’m going to find them.”

“Daenerys—”

“This is my daughter we’re talking about,” she snaps, “I’m not taking the risk.”

Tormund sighs. “And this is _Jon_ we’re talking about.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know Jon anymore,” she tells him and the last thing she sees is the disappointment on Tormund’s face before she heads out to find Rhaella.

+

Daenerys pushes past branches and leaves, calling out for Rhaella and every time she receives no answer, her stomach churns in horror. _He wouldn’t do this_ , the woman who loved Jon says, _he would never take her from you._

But the woman she is today, the one who is still afraid of every unknown sound and the one who wakes up from her nightmares in sweat and tears tells her otherwise. _He_ can _do this. Anyone can do anything in this world, you should’ve never let him take her_.

At the sound of childish laughter, Daenerys gasps in surprise. Following it leads her to an oak tree under which Jon has Rhaella perched on his lap, her dainty fingers working curiously on a flower crown.

The crackling sound of her boots on the dry leaves and wood causes them both to look up at her. Rhaella smiles happily whereas Jon frowns questioningly at the frightened look on her face.

“Ma!” her little girl exclaims, rising from Jon’s arms to run toward her. “Look what I made you,” she states proudly, handing Dany the crown made of pink and purple petals.

Daenerys forces a smile, willing her heartbeat to calm down. She feels foolish to want to cry in relief at her girl being safe but holds it back, knowing this will only perturb her child who will probably think she’s lost her damned mind. “It’s gorgeous,” she coos to Rhaella, placing a kiss on top of her head. “We should head back home now.”

Jon gets up, dusting off his clothes, still eyeing her in a weird way.

“I’m going on the horse,” Rhaella decides, running back to Jon who laughs and dramatically picks her up and both hop on the black horse.

Daenerys watches them gallop away to her house, her thoughts running wild. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to find true peace. Moments like this, where she’s already assumed the worst from a little predicament, prove that she never really built her life anew but is just clinging to the idea that she is now residing in serenity.

She thought she could block out her past life and its associated atrocities but now she is being forced to face them again, all her ghosts returning to her in the form of the man she’d loved.

+

Tonight, they eat together.

Tormund, Jon, Rhaella and Daenerys gather around the table.

“Gods I haven’t had fish in years,” Tormund moans in appreciation when Ilissa fills his plate with the filleted fish they had bought at the market earlier. He starts eating—devouring—it in a way that makes Rhaella laugh.

Jon chuckles too at the sight of his daughter laughing.

“One would think you were starving beyond the wall,” Daenerys jokes.

“Listen, the North is in my heart but Essos is…” Tormund kisses the tips of his fingers with an exaggerated sound effect. “The food, the women.” He winks at Ilyssa who blushes and strolls away after having served everyone.

“Tormund,” Jon warns, glaring at him and then subtly nodding in Rhaella’s direction.

His ginger best friend offers a sheepish smile.

“But the food really is great, Daenerys,” Jon says in a much more serious tone.

Dany distractedly nods. “Thank you.”

Jon is sitting just next to her making it hard to ignore the way his gaze lingers on the side of her face after her quiet response. Ever since they came back from their horse riding trip, Daenerys has tried avoiding him at all costs. She’s overthinking everything, even her decision to let him stay. He hasn’t given her any reason to doubt him – _yet,_ a scared voice in her mind rebukes – but she fails to restrain her fears. And she doesn’t know how this will go from here, considering that this is only his second day here and she already almost had a meltdown thinking he took her daughter from her.

She refuses to meet Jon’s eyes, afraid that even after all this time he’ll be able to read her as plainly as he used to.

“Oh. I forgot. I also made biscuits,” Daenerys announces on a whim, eager to take an opportunity to flee the awkwardness between her and Jon.

“My favourite,” Rhaella exclaims, round eyes filled with wonder when Daenerys places the bowl on the table.

“Yes but remember what happened the last time you ate too many of those?” Daenerys raises an eyebrow at the little girl.

Rhaella gives her a dramatic eye-roll. “Only three,” she bargains.

“Two,” Daenerys argues.

Rhaella scowls at her mother but reaches across the table to grab two of them.

As Daenerys sits back down, she notices that Jon has been eyeing the interaction with a little smile before also going for the biscuits. As he brings it to his mouth, Daenerys begins to say, “Careful, it’s still—” he’s already bitten it before she can complete her sentence and lets it fall gracelessly, the honey from the inside dripping down his lip as he hisses. “Hot,” Daenerys finishes, chuckling despite herself.

Tormund and Rhaella both throw their heads back in laughter.

“That’s not very nice,” Daenerys tells her daughter, although she is chortling herself.

“I didn’t know there was hot honey inside,” Jon says incredulously, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, which only results in the honey smearing across his cheek.

Daenerys finds the sight more amusing than she should. Inadvertently, she picks up a piece of cleaning cloth from the table and presses it against the side of Jon’s mouth to clean off the sugary substance. Jon goes completely still, dark eyes finding hers, surprise written across his features. Daenerys immediately drops her hand, realising what she’s done.

She has to pry her eyes from his unnerving gaze, heat flooding her cheeks.

Across from them, Tormund clears his throat and takes a first bite of the biscuit. “It’s really sweet,” he comments with a discreet smile.

+

Daenerys is on her way to blow out the last candle so she can go to sleep when she hears three knocks at the door.

She knows it’s Jon right away.

Even so, when she opens the door and her doubts are confirmed, her stomach does a funny flip when his onyx eyes meet hers.

Neither of them utters a word for a prolonged moment.

Jon shifts on his feet. “Care for a walk?”

Dany nods.

“Is she asleep already?” he asks quietly as they walk side by side.

“Already?” she retorts, “You’ve no idea how many stories I have to tell her before she even so much as yawns.”

Jon’s lips quirk, pushing the door open for them to walk outside on the terrace. The wind is blowing harshly tonight, the moon silently watching upon the two of them. Daenerys hugs herself, her sleeping shift not the type of material she should be wearing outside at night.

Jon seems to notice that, too, but he averts his gaze and says, “If it’s so much trouble for you then some nights I could…be the one to tell her a bedtime story.”

Daenerys blinks. “It’s not troublesome.”

Jon looks at her but she keeps her eyes on the trees and rustling leaves. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” he states.

She inhales deeply. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

“You can’t even look me in the eyes, Daenerys.”

She turns to him. “Happy?” she asks a bit too rudely.

He frowns at her. “No,” he says, “there’s clearly something bothering you. What was that about earlier anyway, when you came running to us looking like a wolf was chasing you?”

“You two weren’t back home,” she finally admits, “and I was worried. The sun was setting—”

“I lost track of time, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is.” She locks her jaw. “For me, it is.”

“Why, she was with me…you think I’d hurt Rhaella?” When the only reply he gets is silence, Jon stares at Daenerys like he’s been struck, taking an abrupt step away from her. “You think I’d hurt my daughter?” he repeats, louder and fiercer this time.

“No,” she finally answers.

Jon’s eyes flash. “Then what? You thought I kidnapped her? Boarded a ship and took her away from you?”

“That’s not fair. You can’t blame me for being scared,” she reprimands. “I know you’re not a bad man, Jon. I _know_ it. I would’ve never told her you were a hero if I did not want her to respect you. I could’ve taught her to hate you from the beginning but I didn’t. I made sure that she would remember you fondly.”

“But you have a hard time trusting me,” he remarks in a softer voice.

“I have a hard time trusting anyone,” she corrects him.

When Jon takes a step toward her, she stands her ground, looking at him intently. His curly hair is flying in all directions due to the breezy conditions, raven locks falling over his face. It makes him look younger. But his eyes are still melancholic. He comes close enough for her to reach up and tuck his hair behind his ears, like she often used to do when they were alone after having made love all night long on that ship of dreams. Jon’s voice is stern and determined when he speaks, “I know it’s difficult right now but I promise that we’ll make things work. For Rhaella.”

A very long time ago, staring in Jon’s grey eyes would’ve been the most comforting thing in the world to her. But now, all she sees are the same eyes she looked upon when she felt her last betrayal. She doesn’t fight him on his words because she truly, whole-heartedly wants to believe that they will manage to work it out for their daughter. “Just…don’t promise me anything, Jon,” she begs of him before leaving. “I can’t have more broken promises. Not in this life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe it's been 1 week since my favourite show's ending was destroyed harder than how dany destroyed king's landing. happy sunday everyone


	4. JON

Jon should honestly be used to Daenerys’ Essosi dresses by now.

Every day, he wakes up to the sight of her harvesting vegetables in her garden that just so happens to be _perfectly_ situated just below his bedchamber and needless to say, the view always knocks the damned breath out of his lungs.

Sometimes they are blue, other times indigo but always Daenerys’ dresses are sheer or simply non-existent in the incorrect places to bare an obscene amount of skin and all this does is make him wish that winter could come back just so she could wear things that are less…distracting.

But today she is wearing something entirely different which, despite not being as flimsy as most of her wardrobe, still manages to mess with his mind all the same. He hasn’t seen Daenerys wear the colours of her house in so long now, the red and black gowns only a faint memory in the back of his head. So it is surprising to see her wear one of those dresses again this morning, a tight-fitted blood-coloured gown, the skirts fading from crimson to midnight black down her body. A golden chain rounds her waist, a three-headed dragon embroidered on her chest.

The change in her choice of clothing makes her appearance shift from soft to regal, to the Queen she once was.

Jon has conflicting thoughts about it as he watches her from above. He cannot help but associate Targaryen colours to the horrifying events of King’s Landing—to her dying in his arms, wearing pure black which was a stark contrast to the blood pouring from her mouth and nose, as red as rubies.

Another part of him is just entire lost in the beauty that she is. It’s quite unfair for one person to be this breath-taking no matter what she wears. And most importantly, for him to still lose his wits around her like a green boy, like the infatuated man he had been on Dragonstone, staring at her like a lovesick fool wherever she went.

When he was beyond the Wall, thinking he’d rot away with the ghost of her in mind, all he ever thought of was how stupid he had been to deny himself of Daenerys—to push her away because of their blood relation. He blamed himself for many things already at that point but _gods,_ the one thing he blamed himself the most for was letting his parentage tear them apart.

He began loathing himself for it, imagining all the ways things could have been different if that night after the victory feast at Winterfell he had not stopped. If he had torn her pretty gown apart and freed her breasts to his mouth, if he had kissed and worshipped her like he had been dying to do and taken her to bed to make love to her all night long, whispering sweet nothings into her ear and reassuring her that she had him; that she would _always_ have him...

Things would have been different then. He knows it now.

But during those times all he could think of was how wrong and sick wanting his aunt to the point of near insanity was. He forced himself to be disgusted by it because it was the right thing to do. The right way to feel. It was how Ned Stark raised him to be.

But in the end, ironically, he became everything Ned Stark would hate – an oathbreaker, a kinslayer, a queenslayer…

And the second time he rejected her, he saw it in her eyes, the way she lost all hope. It was at that moment Dany—his sweet Dany—died, replaced by the fears that forged the Dragon Queen. If only he could take it all back, he would. He didn’t know how else to reassure her without his love, so he kept telling her that she was his Queen because he thought that this was what she needed to hear, that his undying loyalty was what she was seeking.

But how badly had he misjudged the situation. Daenerys didn’t want loyalty, she wanted his undying love. She needed proof that she was not alone in the world. And he didn’t give her that.

He pushed her away because he foolishly thought loving her was wrong.

Now he feels like a fool. Knowing Rhaella was the product of their love makes Jon question _how_ he could ever think that loving Daenerys was wrong. In a world of chaos, lies and betrayal, their love had been one of the purest things he had ever experienced. It was not born of greed or lust for power but of mutual respect, understanding and the desire that had bound them together from the beginning.

Rhaella is a living and breathing reminder of what could’ve been. Of everything his relationship with Daenerys had once been when they were tucked away on that boat, far from politics and everyone else: love, safety and peace.

The wooden floor creaks and Jon’s Daenerys-in-a-pretty-dress-induced spell is broken. He looks over his shoulder, finding Tormund standing there, arms crossed over his chest.

“What?” Jon’s tone is defensive.

“Listen, I know you two have had one fucked up relationship. You killed her. That’s…one way to end a love story,” Tormund reflects, “but you wake up and stare at her like an idiot every single day, you think I’m blind, boy? If you still love that girl so much, I don’t see one reason why you haven’t tried to get her back yet. You have a daughter together. You two could have a life together if you weren’t so stubborn.”

Jon sighs. “You know as well as I do that it’s not that simple, Tormund. And aye, I _killed_ her. And everything she did…it all still haunts her. I see it in her eyes. Hells, it still haunts me too. Matters of the heart are not important right now.” Jon traces his steps back to his bed and sits down with a heavy thud, looking up at Tormund who doesn’t seem to fully believe him. “But I do want her to trust me. Especially with Rhaella.”

“You’re not gonna build trust by broodin’ up here,” his friend reproaches. “Be with her. Invest yourself in her life, in their lives. Make her see you as a plus instead of a liability.”

“I’m trying,” Jon promises.

Tormund takes Jon’s place next to the large window and smiles wickedly. “I mean she _is_ really pretty so I don’t blame you for starin’ at her every morning. Such a pretty sight can give any man the strength to get through the day.”

Jon groans as he leaves the room, ignoring Tormund’s mocking laughter.

+

He finds her outside his room and is momentarily thrown at her presence. Usually it’s him who seeks her out, not the other way around. And it does not help that up close, she looks even more impressive in her new attire.

Daenerys greets him with her usual little smile. “You slept well?” she asks.

“Very,” he answers, slowly closing the door behind him as he fully faces her. He can’t help but remark, “your dress, it’s…uh—different.”

Daenerys looks down at herself and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, almost shyly. Jon shakes the thought away. “It’s a special occasion. I’ve found this lying around so I thought what better day to wear this than Rhaella’s nameday.”

Jon’s eyes widen, her dress forgotten. “Her nameday?” he asks in a breath of amazement, chest swelling with inexplainable emotions. “She’s…she’s five now?”

“Yes.” Daenerys’ eyes twinkle with the same pride he feels.

It’s a bittersweet feeling that he hasn’t been in his daughter’s life for so many years. It is a long time but also practically nothing compared to the lifetime he can spend with her, if Daenerys will allow it. The thought of watching Rhaella grow, of being here for the next important stages and milestones of her life is not something Jon would’ve ever considered. Five years ago, after he betrayed the love of his life for the realm and was exiled for it, he had accepted his fate. A loveless and childless fate, he knew he was doomed to live in misery with his phantoms to taunt him until his last breath.

And now he is standing in front of the very woman he had killed as she tells him of their child. The child he gets to hold, to love. A new chance at a life Jon would’ve _never_ imagined in a thousand years.

He feels a surge of rushing, hot emotions, all of them clashing together and bringing him to tears before he can control it.

Daenerys’ lips part. “I’m sorry. I—did I say something wrong?”

Jon chuckles lamely, collecting the wetness at the corners of his eyes with the pads of his thumbs as he shakes his head. “No, no. I—” His throat closes up, clogged with the emotions he cannot describe, things too powerful for simple words. “This is not something I thought I’d ever get to experience,” he says softly, letting his eyes fall to the floor, sure that she must think he is being overdramatic for crying over Rhaella’s nameday.

But instead, he feels Daenerys come closer until he senses the heat from her body and can smell the new familiar scent she exudes, something fruity and fresh. Jon looks up, eyes clashing with her violet ones. She understands him. “I felt the same thing when she was born and I held her in my arms for the first time,” she tells Jon just as quietly, “I didn’t think I deserved happiness or peace after everything that happened. And for a long time, I woke up every single day thinking, ‘no, this is a dream…she’ll be taken away from me any moment now.’”

Jon listens to her, drinking in every word she speaks and feels for her – comprehends why she is so hesitant of letting him back into her life. Into their lives. “It feels like an illusion. Too good to be true,” he supplies.

Daenerys’ eyes radiate recognition. “Exactly.”

“It’s how I felt when she held my hand the other day,” Jon admits, lips curling at their own volition because of the sweet memory. “She still doesn’t feel real, me being here doesn’t feel real. I feel it too—like I don’t deserve it.”

She surprises them both when she touches his hand, doesn’t grab it or interlace their fingers like she once did – only a feather-light touch which still sends his heart stuttering against his ribcage. “But it is very much real.” She drops her hand after making her point and gives him a reassuring smile. “Come. I think she’d like for us to wish her together.”

“Thank you, Daenerys.” He allows himself to smile. A real smile made up of the small dose of hope his heart is allowed to have.

She tilts her head a bit. “For what?”

“For…this. Everything. I know you don’t trust me and I understand why it is hard to do so but I can tell you’re trying for Rhaella’s sake.” He licks his lips. “I appreciate that.”

Daenerys seems pleased that he understands why this situation is tricky. In a half-playful voice that holds serious undertones, she says, “I only hope you don’t make me regret it.”

A promise that she will not regret this is on the tip of his tongue—he wants to swear that he’ll do anything for his daughter and that he will never, ever betray her again, even if his life and the lives of the seven damned kingdoms depended on it.

But Daenerys has said she doesn’t want broken promises anymore so Jon makes that vow to himself and instead, he will _show_ her that means it instead of just saying so.

+

There is a cheeky smile on Daenerys’ face when they reach her bedroom. She looks up at Jon and he nods readily. Pushing the door open, they both excitedly exclaim, “Happy nameday, Rhaella.”

A head of messy curls lifts up as big violet eyes find theirs, first in confusion then that look morphing into understanding and excitement. Rhaella beams, jumping upwards on her bed.

Daenerys giggles at the sight and Jon follows her to the bed. Their girl throws her little arms around them _both,_ dragging Jon and Daenerys down in an uncomfortable hug as Jon stumbles forward clumsily, falling onto the mattress and pulling Daenerys with him.

He half-laughs, half-groans at their entangled state. Rhaella is almost crushed beneath them and Jon manages to get a mouthful of silver hair. He laughs as he gets it out of his mouth and, suspicions confirmed, Daenerys’ hair is still as soft as it used to be.

Only then does he realise that his hand is draped across her body too, palm resting on her hip. His gaze meets hers, an uneasy tension settling in between the space of this peculiar position.

“You’re both crushing me,” Rhaella whines beneath them in between chuckles.

Jon pries his hands off of Daenerys and helps himself up, feeling a bit lightheaded.

Daenerys stands too, brushing her hands down her gown to smooth it out, platinum hair an absolute mess now.

Rhaella sits up on the bed and asks, “So…can I have a horse now?”

Daenerys rolls her eyes. “You and your obsession with horses,” she jests. “No, Rhaella. Still not old enough.”

Rhaella crosses her arms over her chest in an attempt to appear intimidating which, as anyone can guess, a five-year old fails at doing.

“But,” Jon inputs, “we could still go riding.” After her gasp of surprise, Jon innocently turns to Daenerys and finishes, “if your mother approves, of course.”

Daenerys gives him a hard look, squinting her eyes as if to say ‘how dare you put me in this situation?’ She exhales lengthily.

“Please, ma,” Rhaella begs, putting her eyes and cute pout to their best use.

Jon wants to laugh at how cunning his little girl is. She likes having things her way.

 _Just like her mother,_ a distant voice muses in his mind.

Daenerys’ resolve breaks at that adorable look. “Fine, I suppose since it’s your na—”

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence that Rhaella has already jumped on her, embracing her mother with all her might. Daenerys startles before hugging her back, the smile on her face one of the most genuine things Jon’s ever seen and it tugs at his heartstrings to see them like this.

“You could come with us,” Jon says, hoping he can convey a silent offer so she knows that they’ll be safe and she doesn’t worry herself like she did the last time. He knows it’ll take time for her to fully trust him and he’s willing to let her do so at her own pace.

But Daenerys refuses, saying she’s sure he can handle her for a while.

Baby steps, he thinks, content. Slowly but surely, Daenerys seems to be learning to let him in Rhaella’s life and he couldn’t be happier for it.

+

There is only one thing that fascinates Rhaella more than horses: flowers.

She can talk about them the whole day – and she does. She picks a variety of roses and tulips and other sorts of flowers, telling Jon intriguing facts about them. He finds _her_ more fascinating, though. The way her eyes sparkle when she sees a flower she likes, the concentration in her brow when she tries to remember what it’s called and the way she trips over words or misspells them while in deep explanations about its origins…Jon could sit here, on the grass, and watch this little girl speak so passionately about plants until death wraps its claws around his heart and squeezes.

“If you had a horse, what would you name him?” Jon asks as he watches her run around the garden, doing what she does best, selecting flowers for her collection.

“It would be a _she,_ ” Rhaella sassily replies. “And…hm, I like the name Visenya.”

“Do you, now? Why, is it from a story your mother told you about?”

“She told me about it a very long time ago,” Rhaella mumbles, collecting stones of interesting shapes. “She doesn’t like to talk about Targaryens.”

Jon frowns. “Why not?”

She shrugs, not paying much mind to this conversation. “Is it true that there are wolves in the North?”

Jon chuckles. “Aye. And I have a wolf.”

Rhaella’s head whips in his direction, black curls falling over her face. “You do?” she asks, mouth forming an ‘O’.

“His name is Ghost,” he tells her, nodding. “He’s been with me for a very long time.”

“Why didn’t you bring him?” Rhaella asks, sounding very hurt.

Jon pats his lap. “Come here,” he tells her and she happily jumps her way to his arms, Jon huffing a laugh as she falls down on him. He grabs a handful of her hair, hoping he remembers how to braid it correctly. “Well, direwolves wouldn’t fare well in Essos. He’s in good hands in the North, it’s his home. Just like dragons wouldn’t like it up North.”

He succeeds in winding his fingers through the mass of dark hair, smiling to himself as he slips one strand under the other and one over, manoeuvring through a braid as well as he can. He used to braid Daenerys’ hair sometimes quite a long while ago now and he remembers how she would hiss and jokingly hit his knee when he’d tug too hard. But eventually, he got the hang of it. It seems he hasn’t unlearned that talent.

“Oh, yes. That’s too bad. I always thought direwolves were also extinct like dragons have been for centuries now,” Rhaella mumbles.

Jon’s hands stop moving. “Who told you that?”

“Dragons being gone?” Rhaella asks and Jon nods. “Mother,” she answers.

Jon doesn’t understand. Why would Daenerys lie about that, when _she_ was the one who brought dragons back in this world? He knows how proud she had been of that, how she would look at them flying with her chin held high and a victorious smile on her face.

Before he has much time to ponder on it, Daenerys joins them outside, raising both eyebrows at the sight of them on the ground and him braiding Rhaella’s hair.

“You can still braid?” she asks, a hint of surprise in her voice.

Jon’s lips lift in a smile. “I think I might even be better than you.”

Daenerys rolls her eyes. “Is that right, Rhaella?” she asks her daughter.

Rhaella looks between the two of them, as if the world’s hardest choice is weighing down her shoulders. “You’re both good,” she settles.

Daenerys and Jon both chuckle at that.

“Come, love, Ilissa is waiting for your harp lessons,” Daenerys tells her.

Rhaella leaps off Jon’s lap and runs back home in a fury of excitement, Daenerys begging her to be careful as she sprints for the door.

“She plays the harp?” Jon asks, slowly getting up.

Daenerys looks back at him. “And sings,” she announces proudly. “Beautifully so.”

He is immediately intrigued and makes a mental note to ask Rhaella to sing for him the next time they see each other.

“Rhaegar used to play the harp and sing, too,” Daenerys says out of the blue, the turn in the conversation taking Jon aback.

“He sang to his people,” Jon muses thoughtfully.

Daenerys observes his face. “Have you come to terms with who you are now?”

 Jon takes in a deep breath. “The good thing about living with Tormund and Ghost is that they didn’t expect me to choose. There were no politics or throne to worry about and my parentage meant nothing to the wildlings. I didn’t have to be a Stark or a Targaryen. So I don’t know if I’ve really come to terms with who I am but I’ve accepted that I cannot change it and that I can only move forward.”

“You never had to choose,” Daenerys tells him. “You will always be a Stark and a Targaryen.”

The words deliver a punch to his guts. Gods. Even now she can throw his own words back at him without realising it. Jon nods numbly, words failing him.

“Why did you lie to Rhaella?” he blurts. At her look of confusion, he elaborates, “we were talking about wolves and dragons and she said that you told her dragons have been gone for a long time now.”

Recognition flashes in amethyst irises as she nods. “I did,” she states simply.

Jon makes a sound at the back of his throat, of utter confusion. “Why?” he asks. “You are the mother of dragons—”

“Was,” Daenerys corrects him heatedly but emotionally. Her dragons will always mean so much to her, Jon is aware.

“Was,” he agrees. “Don’t you think she would’ve liked to know that?”

“Sure,” Daenerys drawls, taking a step forward. “And how do you think she’ll fe when I tell her about King’s Landing, when her mother took her last dragon to the skies and killed thousands of innocent people?” Daenerys’ voice quivers just talking about it and she clasps her hands together once more, a nervous tick he has picked up on, a reflex whenever those events are brought up.

Jon swallows, not knowing what to say. “You were more than that,” he tries. “You freed slaves, you did good things—great things before. You don’t have to tell her everything right away but one day she’ll find out. Let her know the wonders that happened because of you.”

“And the horrors,” she insists. “She’ll think of me as a monster. Is it that bad that I’m hiding this from her?”

“Of course not.” Jon shakes his head, understanding her point.

“I want her to know simplicity,” Daenerys tells him, a hint of despair in her voice, “a life filled with good things. Maybe that makes me selfish but I’m not ready to tell her about everything that happened.”

“I get it,” he swears and nods tersely. “There’s no hurry to tell her such things. But one day she deserves to know you were the mother of dragons.”

She visibly unwinds. “Thank you…for understanding.”

Jon glances at the horses in the farm and back to Daenerys, a funny idea coming to him. “And I don’t think Rhaella would like dragons anyway.”

Daenerys furrows her brow, blinking. “What does that mean?”

“Let’s face it. She got her love for horses from her father.”

 Daenerys juts her chin outwards, a fire filling her eyes. A fire he hasn’t seen in so long, the kind that sets his blood alight too. “A horse is nothing compared to a dragon,” Daenerys haughtily informs him. “If she had a dragon she wouldn’t glance twice at a horse. You said it yourself, don’t you remember? That I ruined horses for you?”

Ah, he does remember. It’s embarrassing, really, how many times their waterfall date replayed in his mind when he was beyond the Wall. It was the only happy thought he could cling onto when the days got too hard and his thoughts turned too dark. He thought of them riding dragons, of him showing her where he used to hunt and how she told him they could’ve stayed for a thousand years. It made his heart ache in the most brutal way, thinking that he should’ve taken up that ridiculous offer.

Now, however, with Daenerys looking at him with that fiery look all he can think of is when he kissed her that day. The adrenaline from flying pumped in his veins and she looked good enough to eat up there, her hair as pale as the snow around them. He had feasted on her mouth like a man starved and things…derailed pretty quickly.

Jon’s cheeks flush, a familiar yet unexpected heat coursing through his system. Before he can make a fool of himself, he rids himself of these thoughts by shaking his head lightly. “Maybe it was a lie,” he teases her, “you were a better dragonrider, granted, but we both know you can’t beat me on a horse.”

Daenerys plays along until she abruptly schools her face into indifference again and Jon hates that she goes back to hide behind her shell before he can ever get too close to her. For her to trust him again, she’ll have to somehow let him in. “I—I should go back inside.”

“Of course,” Jon agrees but when he watches her leave, he nonchalantly adds, “it’s easier to accept defeat, after all.”

Daenerys stops dead in her tracks. Turns to look at him. He knows he got her. She might love her simple and peaceful life but she still has the blood of the dragon, always up for a challenge. “If I can beat you in a race then you are cooking for us tonight,” she decides.

Jon laughs awkwardly. “I can’t cook for shit,” he admits.

She smirks. “Then you better not lose.”

+

He forgets the world around him.

As simple as that, Jon forgets everything when they get on their horses, provocative smiles exchanged between the pair before they are set to go. It starts out light and easy, both of them riding at the same pace – not too fast but not too slow for it to be insignificant. She catches his attention more than he likes to admit, it’s quite impossible not to stare at her silver hair fanning all over her shoulders and bouncing in beat with the horse’s tempo.

When he picks up speed, he crosses her and smiles to himself, leaning forward as his eyes pinch together, the wind blowing against his face both freeing and annoying. All Jon sees is green, the fields in front of him expanding as the horse gallops away.

And then she is in his line of sight again and he forgets how to breathe. There is something magical about being with her now, after five long years of drowning himself in his sorrow and regret, after five long years of picturing her dead body in his arms, the handle of his dagger planted in her chest. But here she is, as alive as ever. Her red dress is a majestic contrast to the colour of the plants and her golden-white hair whips in the air around her as a melodious feminine laugh fills the atmosphere. She is so _beautiful_. A goddess on her grey horse, some kind of mythical creature, a sight that makes his chest hurt and makes the simple act of breathing become a struggle. 

He always thought Daenerys’ power and ability to ride dragons made her more fascinating but that’s not true—Daenerys herself is the embodiment of fascination. On a horse or a dragon, she still makes him lose his mind.

He was never supposed to see her again.

He doesn’t know which gods he should thank for this miracle but he is willing to get on his knees to thank all of them if that’s what it takes to not wake up from what seems like a dream.

It comes as no surprise when he loses. Halfway through, he stopped caring about the race as his eyes found themselves busy tattooing every damned move Daenerys made on her horse into his memory, as if looking away from her for too long will cause her to disappear into thin air.

He gets down from his horse, heart beating wildly, a light sheen of sweat coating his forehead.

Daenerys is still atop of her mare, bright eyes glinting when he approaches her. “What happened?” she asks, voice breathy and high from the exhilarating experience.

 _You,_ he wishes to say.

“I don’t know. I think I’m just not used to your horse,” he lies.

Daenerys raises an eyebrow at him. “Sure,” she drawls, not buying it one bit. “I hope you’re ready for tonight. I must admit I’m quite hungry.”

He shakes his head in amusement and watches as she struggles to get off the horse. Jon goes to help her before he can think too much about it, placing his hands on her waist as he brings her down to land. Her hands clutch his shoulders for balance and she looks up at him, her eyes brighter than they’ve been in a long while.

His hands linger on her hips, the material soft against his roughened palms. He should pull away, he knows, but she hasn’t taken her hands off either. “Perhaps this dress isn’t meant to be worn for horse riding,” he murmurs.

Her cheeks are reddened from what they just did and her hair is an absolute disaster on her head but she’s never looked prettier in his eyes. Gods help him, this woman still still very much has the same effects on him as she’s always had. She is the only person in the world who is able to make him feel so much at once, a mixture of pleasure and pain that is intoxicating. “Perhaps,” she says, voice low.

The moment is broken when one of the horses behind them neighs and Daenerys drops her hands, stepping back as if she’s been caught doing something wrong.

“The sun will set soon,” she reflects, clearing her throat. “And someone has to be cooking.”

Jon laughs as he follows her back in her house.

He could get used to this. Too easily.

He doesn’t know if he should be frightened by that thought or relieved.

+

It’s become a tradition for him to come see Rhaella before bed now, to kiss her good night and speak a few words to Daenerys at her doorstep before retiring to his own room.

This night, he accompanies her to her room after dinner.

“So?” he inquires. “Was it that bad?”

“The stew?” she asks, turning to him as they reach her door.

Jon holds on to a thread of hope as she mulls over her answer.

“It was terrible,” she deadpans and his shoulders slump. “At least you tried.” Her eyes, however, are shining with laughter.

Admittedly though, the food _was_ bad (Tormund and Rhaella exchanged grimaces after the first bite).

“I’ll have plenty of time to learn from the best,” he says.

Daenerys smiles. “Remember your offer to read Rhaella to sleep?” she questions.

Jon straightens his posture. “Yes?”

“Can I take you up on it tonight? I’m tired and—”

“ _Yes_ ,” he exclaims, sounding way too excited for something like this.

She gives him a weird look. “It’s not that interesting, trust me. You’ll get bored soon enough.”

“Maybe for you it gets boring after five years,” he tells her, “but right now not a second with Rhaella has been anything close to boring for me.”

Her gaze softens at him. “Well, come in.”

“Wait.” Jon uncomfortably shifts, shoulders tensing up. “Is…is Daario here?” He told himself he is okay with what Daenerys has chosen to do with her life after he...well, killed her. There’s not much he can do about it if she decided to have a lover or a bed warmer. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be okay seeing it for himself. The kiss she and Daario had shared before his very eyes still brings a sour taste in his mouth and the notion of going in Daenerys’ room and finding him there…Jon grits his teeth, needles of pain poking at his heart no matter how unfazed he tries to act.

“He’s gone,” she says. “Been gone for a few days now.”

“Gone for good?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“For a good while,” she answers.

Good _,_ he selfishly thinks.

Reading Rhaella a bedtime story is easier said than done, as Daenerys had warned him. She asks more questions than there are lines in the book, queries Jon has no idea what to answer with since he isn’t _that_ focused into the story. (‘Why didn’t the princess use the rope to escape?’ ‘Why did the prince not get arrested?’) Numerous times, Jon shoots helpless glances at Daenerys who shrugs at him and brushes her hair quietly, snickering every time Jon fails to explain a plot hole to a five-year-old.

After a long while, when Jon’s eyes begin to sting with tiredness and his legs feel sore from sitting on a chair next to Rhaella’s bed for too long, her persistent questions finally lessen into an eventual nothingness. He sighs in relief at the first sound of her snoring and finally gets to close this cursed book which makes no sense to him.

Jon’s heart swells as he puts the book aside and looks down at Rhaella who curled herself into a ball, her red-haired doll tucked under her arms as she sleeps, little puffs of air coming from her mouth. He still can’t quite grasp that this is his daughter. He never thought he’d have a child and when Daenerys took her last breath in his arms, he _knew_ that was a certainty. And now, somehow, he has both right in front of him: Daenerys and a child.

Jon leans down and presses a kiss on top of his daughter’s head.

As he gets up, his eyes are inadvertently drawn to Daenerys. His stomach tightens at the sight of her also asleep on the bed next to Rhaella’s. Her covers are only slightly draped over her frame so Jon decides to fix that, pulling them so they cover her entire body up to her neck. Asleep, she has a lovely innocence to her. Silver hair spill over the white sheets like waves on a stormy day, chest heaving evenly as she breathes in and out.

In another life, he would’ve been sleeping with her. She liked being tucked under his chest, she had found a nice spot where her lips would press against his throat, her petite form fitted perfectly against the length of his body, legs tangled together. He remembers he would brush his fingers through his hair and she’d moan appreciatively, telling him how much she needed that after dealing with her advisors for too long. He would do it until she’d eventually drift to sleep.

Jon backs away slowly, shaking his head to himself.

It’s a delicate situation they are in. He can’t afford to screw it up because of his very ambiguous feelings for her.

If only his heart would listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the kudos and wonderful comments, i honestly started this as a way to make peace with what season 8 gave us and try to find closure afterwards and did not expect for it to gain so much attention. 
> 
> i finally finished an outline of where i want this story to go and i believe it'll be around 15 chapters. hope you all stick around. :)


	5. DANY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is quite short but the next one is very long in comparison so here you go, have this while i'll probably take some days to finish the next one. hope you guys enjoy it as always :)

On Dragonstone, when the King in the North decided to stay for a bit and try to convince her to fight alongside him in the Great War, Daenerys found herself greatly annoyed at first to have to deal with him. He was a pretty man, undoubtedly, but he was way too stubborn for his own good and constantly defied her in ways no other man did and still lived to see the sun rising the next day.

But slowly things took a weird turn, his companionship was the first thing she’d look for in the morning. She would willingly venture down the caves where he would be mining dragonglass just so she could talk to him. She looked forward to their conversations and to hear more of his mind and was always afraid to disappoint him. Surely enough, her annoyance towards the Northern King turned into love.

That development mirrors what she feels now that Jon has been here for a little over fifteen days.

On the first day, it had been a nightmare. She exaggeratedly thought her entire life would be ruined now that he found her.

But as the days have progressed, Daenerys has tried her best to put herself in his shoes and to be kinder about the idea of having him around. Rhaella is still very much his daughter and deep down, Dany will never see Jon as a monster, she knows his heart is good, so she allowed herself to be more lenient toward him.

He’s fitting in quite nicely in her life, she has to admit. He helps with the farm and the gardens and the animals. They’ve managed to find a balance of shared tasks amongst her, Tormund and Jon.

It’s become a routine for him to spend time with Rhaella in the morning, doing God knows what outside (all Daenerys ever hears is loud laughter). When Daenerys is too tired, he is the one who dresses Rhaella up and braids her hair.

Her anxiety over leaving him alone with her daughter has also significantly lessened now.

But that doesn’t stop them from being too mischievous sometimes.

“Where have you been?” Daenerys snapped the other day when Jon and Rhaella tried to sneak their way back in the house unnoticed, long after the sun had set, their clothes all messed up and dirtied. “It’s raining outside.” They both had the nerve to exchange innocent looks, refusing to answer. Daenerys sighed in annoyance. She felt like she had two children instead of one. “Go change. Dinner is ready.”

She feels comfortable around him again. Well, not to the point that they once used to be but she no longer feels the itching need to overthink every single word she utters or anticipate a bad turn in each conversation. They seem to both be able to talk about everything and nothing, although some things remain delicate between them – things they both silently agree on not speaking too much of.

Being alone with Jon doesn’t bother her anymore either. In fact, they spend some time together every afternoon now, an unplanned routine, sitting under one of the trees in the backyard and drinking tea.

The first time he joined her there, she offered him a mug of hot tea that Rhaella refused and Jon frowned at her. “What is that?” he had asked before sitting on the trunk next to her.

“Just tea,” she answered. “Have some. Rhaella didn’t want to.”

When he tasted it, Jon scrunched up his nose. “It tastes weird.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tormund said the same thing. It’s just _tea._ You Northerners just have a horrible taste.”

Jon had given her a sly smile. “I think I have a great taste,” he commented, though Daenerys couldn’t figure out what he was talking about.

From that day, this became their _thing_. Neither of them really agreed on it but they’ll come to the same place every day anyway, acting as if that is just part of their daily lives now. Sometimes they’ll talk and talk until something or someone disturbs them and other times they’ll watch the sun shrink behind the mountains after it casts its last rays in a peaceful silence. 

 It’s a weird, meaningless but serene thing to do. She doesn’t plan on stopping. 

Jon loves drinking tea now.

+

On one of their afternoons together, he’d asked her, “what did you see?”

“What?”

“When you…” he seemed to struggle with the proper wording and Daenerys understood.

“When I died,” she supplied.

Jon nodded, not meeting her eyes. “Did you see anything? I remember I saw nothing. Only darkness.”

She nodded, trying to remember what it felt like. Well, she felt nothing. It was hard to describe to anyone but Jon…Jon could understand. He’d been there, too. “I saw nothing either,” she said, only half true.

In the darkness, too far from her reach – she had spotted a very hazy image of a house with a red door.

+

One night, he came to seek her out long after dinner and after everyone had fallen asleep.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked as she left her room to follow him.

“No.” His voice was raspier than usual and as they walked to the terrace, she noticed his steps were wobbly.

“You’re drunk,” she remarked.

“You know how it gets with Tormund,” he told her, chuckling and then that turned into a fit of coughs.

“You’re awfully drunk,” she said again, having to support him when they stood outside, putting her arm around his waist as they admired the moon and stars.

When he slung an arm over her shoulder, she told herself it was just for balance. She could smell the wine on his breath and if she looked up to her side, she’d find him much more interested in gazing down at her instead of the skies above their heads. Even when her heartbeat accelerated, she didn’t put too much thought into it.

“I should’ve killed Tyrion that day,” he blurted out.

Daenerys made a sound between a gasp and a guffaw, not understanding where this came from. “What?” she questioned, taken aback.

He shrugged. “He manipulated me. I regretted it every single fucking day, Daenerys. You don’t know how…just how much I hated myself for what I did. I still do. I despise myself. I should’ve never killed you.” He was babbling on at that point, not making much sense but she let him pour his heart out anyway, listening to every drunken word, his Northern accent accentuating the frequent use of curse words.

And then he stood in front of her, cradling her face in his hands like he was holding a pup. She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing, he looked way too funny like this – too drunk to even keep his eyes fully open, the apples of his cheeks tainted pink from the air around them and numerous strands of curly hair bouncing down his forehead. But his palms on her cheeks were warm and comfortable and she steeled herself not to lean into him, to remember that he was very, very drunk and would never remember this night and his actions.

Dark grey eyes danced around her face and he sighed longingly. “You have nice lips,” he told her, weirdly enough.

Daenerys let out a breathy laugh, her insides tingling. “Jon…you don’t know how drunk you are. You should go to bed—”

“Sh,” he shushed her, brushing his right thumb over her lower lip. Daenerys might’ve been the sober one but she was still a woman and there was not much she could do to stop the heat from pooling in her belly. “Drunk or not, I have something to tell you. I think I...no, wait I’m _pretty sure_ I—” he cut himself off then and backed away, gasping. “I think I’m going to throw up,” he ended up saying.

Despite herself she wondered, on her bed alone that night, what he could’ve told her.

+

Daenerys tries to remedy his atrocious cooking skills too. He proposes to be the one in charge of their meals every other day, which would’ve been a nice gesture if he could actually…cook.

Today, he wishes to make soup for everyone.

“You’re cutting them too big,” she exclaims her tenth complaint since he started.

Jon huffs, patience running thin. “They’re going in your stomach anyway so why would I bother with the size?” he responds, chopping the tomatoes and carrots in gross, uneven shapes.

Daenerys glares at him. “You are the worst cook ever,” she states, watching as he stirs the soup on the fire. She takes a whiff and hums. “It needs something else,” she murmurs to herself and looks up the shelf in search for that ingredient.

Jon comes behind her. “What is it?”

“Onions will hopefully save the mess you’re making,” she jests, lifting her arm to reach the top shelf. Even on her tiptoes, her fingers only brush over them.

Until she feels a warm body behind her, an inaudible gasp seeping past her lips as another arm brushes against hers, Jon grabbing the onions before she can. “I think onions will only ruin it,” he says, so close to her that his voice feels like a physical caress at the back of her neck. She suppresses a shiver at the feel of his breath on her skin.

Daenerys turns around. A bad choice since that places her right in front of him, stormy eyes dropping to her own, Jon thoroughly invading her personal space. He’s let his hair down today since Rhaella insisted on making a flower crown for him and all that resulted in was mussing up his curls. She tries to remember what they were talking about. “You’ve cooked three meals so far, and they were all bad, and you think you know better than I do?” she retorts.

Jon’s lips curl up. She wishes he’d move away so she can breathe properly again, because now all she can smell is the soap he used on his hair…and probably on his body. She hopes she is not blushing at their proximity, that would be embarrassing. “I just think they’re too strong of a taste,” he says.

Daenerys lifts her head higher. “You’re wrong. As always.”

“As always?” Jon repeats, quirking a brow at her. Instead of backing off so they can talk in normal tones again, he inches a bit closer and Daenerys presses herself as far as she can go against the table behind her but that’s the problem—this is already as far as she can go. Now Jon’s chest is almost touching hers and she can feel the heat of his body despite the layers between them, despite his worn-out leather doublet and her rose-coloured silk dress. “When have I been wrong again?” he demands, voice dropping so low it almost comes out as a whisper.

Daenerys swallows thickly. What is he doing? His eyes are focused on hers and it’s entirely too unnerving. “About the tea. You love it now.”

He shrugs, never breaking eye contact. “It’s an acquired taste.” He smiles. “What else?”

She knows he is merely teasing her since they’ve grown more comfortable around each other now but it’s hard to focus when he looks at her with those dark eyes of his, her palms beginning to turn clammy in result. “You were wrong about being a better rider than me,” she reminds him, wetting her lips nervously.

When Jon follows the movement of her tongue with his eyes, a fist closes around her guts, a strange warmth spreading across her chest. _What is he doing_? He looks back up as fast as his eyes had gone down but she’s caught the movement all the same and her breathing quickens. “I was just distracted,” he says, voice hoarse.

“By what?”

“Something.”

Daenerys huffs in disbelief. He just hates losing.

“Besides,” Jon mumbles, “I’ve been right about some significant things.”

Daenerys cocks her head to the side. “Like?”

Jon’s dark eyes bore into her own, his expression both warm and very serious. “About that witch being an unreliable source of information,” he says.

For a moment, Daenerys is confused. And then she realises what he means…. That conversation at the Dragonpit years ago, when she reminded him yet again that she was cursed and would never bear a child. He had jokingly told her that the prediction could’ve been incorrect but his eyes held one thing she was afraid to have, hope.

She fails to stop her lips from turning into a smile. Even after everything, he is still able to get a damned smile out of her. She finds this both frustrating and amusing. “Well,” she drawls, “I don’t think your intentions for saying that were entirely too pure back then.”

“If you believe I had ulterior motives talking about you having children…” Jon roughly whispers, her eyes unwittingly drawn to his plump lips shaping the syllables, the pull to him too magnetic. He reaches up to push a strand of hair out of her face, lazily tucking it behind her ear and her heart beats so fast it feels like it is physically in her throat. She should move away, should shove _him_ away. “Then you’d be absolutely correct,” Jon finishes and leans in closer. Daenerys is torn between her mind scrambling for reasons – and there are _many_ – why she should push Jon away and her heart, her foolish broken heart, whose pieces are all trembling in anticipation at the idea of him finally closing the distance between them and—

“Fuckin’ hells.”

Jon and Daenerys break apart at the sudden sound of Tormund’s voice echoing through the room. Daenerys almost trips on thin air as she darts as far away as she can from Jon, who closes his eyes and takes a long, annoyed breath.

“Tormund,” Daenerys greets, her voice higher than usual, her heart kicking wildly at her ribcage.

Tormund looks between the two of them with wide eyes. “I was the first one to think you two should fuck your problems away but not in front of the food that we’ll all be eating! That’s disgusting. And it’s burning.”

Jon curses under his breath and goes to take the soup off the fire. His neck has turned red as he attempts to avoid his friend’s eyes. “We weren’t—it’s not what it…looked like,” he tries, straining to find the words.

“He was only helping me,” Daenerys states calmly, regaining a cool composure even if her insides are like an inferno.

Tormund nods slowly. “Sure.” Sarcasm drips from his tone.

Daenerys moistens her lips, needing to get the hell out of this kitchen. “I should get back to Rhaella. She needs…help. With some...things.” The words awkwardly tumble out of her mouth but Dany doesn’t care, she gives them a parting nod and hurries out.

Thank the gods Tormund came. She can’t believe what stupid thing she was about to do back there.

The more people you love, the weaker you are. She learned her lesson once.

+

Daenerys was a hundred pages deep in her book, sitting by her window where the soft breeze caressed her skin, when she heard three knocks at the door.

Ilyssa came in to announce, “Kinvara is here.”

Daenerys doesn’t hide the worry on her face when she greets the priestess. The last time Kinvara came here, she announced that Jon was coming. She only ever comes for important news. So, when she meets Daenerys at the door, fear grips the silver-haired woman’s heart. “Kinvara,” she says, trying to stay collected. “What brings you here?”

“I need to speak with you.” Her eyes flicker to something behind her and her gaze hardens. “Alone,” she emphasises.

Daenerys looks behind her to find Jon standing right there, frowning. He nods curtly and leaves.

Alone with Kinvara, Dany fearfully asks, “What is it?”

“I hope I am wrong, I really do,” Kinvara starts and that does nothing to lessen Dany’s anxiety, “but I’m afraid more whispers of you being alive are starting to spread. Across Essos…but even worse, across Westeros.”

Daenerys’ heart drops dangerously. “Is it bad?” she asks quietly.

“We don’t know yet but word may have reached King’s Landing, the Broken King and his council may or may not know you’re alive.” Kinvara takes in a deep breath. “And if there is one person who can find you…it is Bran Stark.”

Daenerys feels light-headed suddenly. She sits down, her thoughts racing. “They are only rumours, though. Nothing concrete has gotten out, has it?”

“No,” Kinvara answers, “But Aegon Targaryen or Jon Snow or however he likes to be called…his presence here complicates things. If Bran finds out his brother is no longer living in exile, any doubts about you will most likely be confirmed. Him being here endangers you, you must know that. I do not understand why you haven’t asked him to leave.”

“He is Rhaella’s father,” Daenerys tells Kinvara, although she doesn’t have many other points to back her defence. “And he gave me no reason to think he has wrong intentions.”

“He might not,” Kinvara agrees, “but do you think anyone outside of this house has good intentions for you, Daenerys Targaryen?”

Dany sucks in a sharp breath. “No,” she exhales.

Kinvara approaches Daenerys and touches her cheek softly, her eyes full of a sinister warning. “Do what you must to protect yourself and your daughter,” Kinvara tells her fiercely. “Always.”


	6. JON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely @Anitah for this beautiful moodboard. <3

When the woman with blazing red hair says, “Alone,” Jon understands right away that she’s come here for something important.

He leaves a worried Daenerys alone with Kinvara and goes to join Tormund in their shared bedchamber. His ginger friend is strumming on a harp when he enters, the sounds he is making so out of tune that it’s physically unbearable to listen.

Jon pulls a face at him. “That’s really bad,” he comments.

“I have to find a new hobby around here,” Tormund says, putting the instrument aside. “I don’t think this is the life for me.”

Jon frowns. “I thought you liked it here?”

“I do,” Tormund confirms, “but you know where my heart lies.”

“The true North.”

“Aye.”

“Do you wish to go back?” Jon asks. Tormund was nice enough to accompany him on this journey here, despite having no evidence that they’d really find Daenerys. Jon told him that he would go alone, that this was something he had to do for his _own_ peace of mind. But Tormund was ever his best friend and refused to let him leave on his own, saying that he was not ready to lose his little crow yet. And as much as Jon adores him, he’ll completely comprehend Tormund’s wishes go home now that he is safe and sound and with Daenerys.

“Aye, you don’t need me anymore. After what happened in the kitchen earlier, you and your dragon girl will fall back in each other’s arms anyway. It’s only a matter of time now.” His friend gives him a teasing look, a smirk dancing on his lips.

Jon’s face heats up at the mention of _that._ “Please,” he mutters, “don’t remind me of it. I clearly overstepped. I shouldn’t have…tried anything. Thank gods you came in.”

“Why not? I thought things were getting better between the two of you. You spend a lot time alone with each other.”

“We do.” Jon feels a stupid smile find its way to his lips, thinking about how smooth things have gotten between him and Daenerys. They spend most of their afternoons together, watching the sun set while drinking tea and conversing. It’s been easy to find his way back to her, easy to remember how alive and good he felt around Daenerys.

But that’s also the problem with Daenerys.

Being with her makes forgetting easier but that doesn’t make anything go away.

He wanted to kiss her earlier, badly so, there’s no denying that. She looked ethereal in her silken dress, her wavy hair cascading down her back and some loose strands hanging over her shoulders. Her eyes held mirth and a hint of something _else,_ the energy between them both playful and electric. It was all-consuming. Being so close to her felt something akin to drunk out of his mind and reason evaded him when her gaze dropped to his mouth. The wicked idea of closing the space between them and testing whether her lips still felt like before was exhilarating, stronger than any desire he’d felt in a long, long while.

He hasn’t truly desired anything in a long time if he is being honest. Beyond the Wall, he knew that there would be nothing remotely positive in his life anymore. Just pain and guilt and ghosts. The only thing he sometimes desired, as bleak as that sounds, was death. He wanted to be gone, wanted the pain to stop. Perhaps that was why he was alive, he used to think, because death makes one forget whereas living serves as a constant reminder of what he did and what she did.

When Sansa had come to visit him at Castle Black before he set out on this journey to find Daenerys, like she did every two years, she talked about everything that was happening around the Seven Kingdoms—and quite frankly, Jon didn’t care. Even when she spoke of the North and how they were having some trouble with food supplies, Jon could not bring himself to feel anything at all. He was being eaten alive by emptiness, the hole in his soul widening with each day. She could tell him the end of the world was coming and all he would have probably managed was a nod. He was drained.

And then she lightly glazed over what was happening in other continents. “There’s a rumour of a silver-haired girl with purple eyes in Essos,” she said, tone nonchalant as she moved on to the next topic.

Jon felt like his heart had been given a push of life. “A what?” he repeated.

Sansa raised a sharp eyebrow. “You don’t seem to care about world problems but you’re this preoccupied by some stupid rumour?”

Jon felt angry. “You’re right. Pardon me for being so selfish. I only had to kill the woman I love to save the realm. What else should I do? Give my own life to help feed the North? Might as well do it, I have nothing to lose now.”

Sansa looked down guiltily. “You’re not selfish.”

“Aye,” he spat. “I wish I had been.”

Things would never be the same between him and Sansa. She betrayed his trust, broke a vow that she made in the Godswood. But that didn’t matter anymore, none of it did. All Jon felt was a numbness that was too difficult to put into words. But the mention of platinum hair and purple eyes made his heart beat faster, it was the first time in years that Jon actually _felt_ his heart.

“It’s not true,” Sansa commented before leaving. “I swear, it is most likely a joke of some kind, a rumour to keep people entertained. Daenerys is dead.” She took a pause. “And it’s good that she is, you must know that.”

Jon didn’t have it in him to fight with her. What was the use, anyway? Not like it’d bring _her_ back.

“You just need more time, Jon. You will forget about her,” she also said.

“If you think that,” he had finally answered, “then you must really not know me.”

He refused to hug her goodbye that day.

And then it was all a whirlwind. He was packing his things, determined to find the woman Sansa spoke of, even if it could just be a rumour, it could be someone else or it could just not be real at all. He saw Daenerys take her last breath, held her lifeless body in his arms for a long time before Drogon came but _yet,_ he didn’t know why there was a strange feeling of hope that erupted and rekindled inside of him the moment Sansa disclosed that piece of information.

He knew he was being a fool but he didn’t care. For once in a very long time, Jon felt like he had a purpose again. A reason to go on. So the very next day, he’d left with Tormund to go find out for himself whether Daenerys was still, somehow, alive.

Now, he thanks the gods he had made that stupid, impulsive decision.

He clears his head and looks at Tormund. “I mean, we do get along now and I feel like we’re making a lot of progress but I…I don’t know. I don’t know how to make things like before.”

“They will never be like before,” Tormund tells him bluntly. “It’s impossible for either of you to forget everything that happened. You’re one fucked up couple.”

Jon breathes out a laugh despite himself, having to agree with what his friend is saying. It’s true. What they’ve done will never stop haunting them.

“But you’ve both suffered a lot. Even before meeting each other. And everything that happened didn’t happen because of the two of you, it was always about power, politics and so many other external things that drove you to the point of no return, things neither of you had any control over. And yet here you are now, both of you, away from all that bullshit. There’s nothing anymore but you two, this house and your daughter. It couldn’t get simpler than that, trust me.” Tormund smiles at him. “And gods know it’s not love that’s missing between you two bull-headed fools. Starin’ at each other like that.”

Jon takes Tormund’s words to his heart, knowing what he’s saying is ultimately true. If he and Daenerys were lucky enough to be offered a second chance, they shouldn’t question it. But…. Jon grimaces. “Daario,” he remembers distastefully.

“Who?”

“Her ex-lover, now lover again…I don’t really know what he is to her anymore.” He knows he has no right to be jealous, especially when she’s been alone for five years now and he knows anyone would also seek comfort and affection in such a situation. Except him. He welcomed the loneliness, let himself be miserable. But he can’t blame her for dealing with her pain differently. Yet, he can’t prevent himself from feeling a strange bitterness about it.

“She had no one else,” Tormund points out. “And he didn’t kill her. That could’ve helped.”

Jon glares at him.

His best friend laughs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Jon shakes his head. “So, you’re really leaving?”

“Not right away, I still want to enjoy this sun a bit longer.”

Jon nods, a sense of melancholy settling in his bones. He will miss Tormund. “A few more days?”

He smiles. “A few more days,” his friend confirms.

+

When Daenerys doesn’t come out of her sleeping chambers after Kinvara leaves, Jon doesn’t question it. She could just be tired.

But when she misses their usual afternoon routine of drinking tea and watching the sun go down, worry begins to infiltrate his mind.

He waits. And waits. And waits.

But when the sun has entirely disappeared, Jon goes back inside, knowing she isn’t coming to join him outside.

When Daenerys tells her servant Ilyssa to bring the food to her room instead of all of them dining together—like they have been doing every single night now, Jon knows for certain that something is off.

 “What happened to your dragon girl?” Tormund asks as they take a seat for dinner. Just the two of them.

Jon’s stomach is in knots, the flavourful bacon and apple pie placed on his plate untouched. “I don’t know,” he answers quietly. Has he done something? Said something? Has he upset her in any way? His mind is reeling with possibilities and the more that come, the more uneasy he grows.

“You should go check on h—”

“Yes.” Jon has already pushed his chair away before Tormund can finish his sentence.

He doesn’t hesitate to knock on her door, doesn’t care if he is coming across as desperate. He just wants to know what caused this sudden change of heart. He remembers them teasing each other in the kitchens earlier, he remembers every smile he got out of her for the past few weeks, the task getting easier with time. Now she’s shut herself behind the four walls of her room and he is utterly clueless as to why.

He hears shuffling behind the door and he holds his breath, ready for her to break the barrier between them and face him but instead, there’s a prolonged silence. And then, “Yes?”

Jon frowns. “Daenerys?”

“Yes,” she repeats.

“I—” He bites his tongue, not knowing what to say. Running a hand through his hair, Jon demands, “why haven’t you come out to eat?” _And watch the sunset with me, like we have every day now._ But he doesn’t say so. It’s always been a silent agreement between the two of them, that was the magic of it. For some reason she’s decided to break the spell.

 “I’m tired.”

The short answer delivered in a muffled voice behind closed door does not soothe Jon’s concern. If anything, it doubles it. He mulls over a reply. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Just…need to rest.”

“What about Rhaella?”

“We ate together. She’s sleeping.”

Jon hates this. Hates knowing that something is clearly wrong but she is shutting him out— _literally_ —and he doesn’t know how to get past her walls. He thought he was getting better at bringing down her well-built defences by now, so what in the seven bloody hells could’ve happened? “Daenerys,” he tries again, leaning his forehead onto the wooden door helplessly, “Is something wrong? Did Kinvara tell you something?”

She takes a beat. Says, “Jon, I’m exhausted. We’ll speak tomorrow.”

Jon wants to press on the matter, beg her to come out and talk to him but he backs away, knowing the most logical thing to do is seek her out on the morrow.

That thought, however, is not comforting enough and Jon fails to get an ounce of sleep that night.

+

The moment he’s thrown on his worn-out gambeson the next morning, he is in a hurry to find Daenerys. Last night, he went over so many things that could be perturbing Daenerys and he could come up with nothing, which irked him to no end.

Jon finds himself in the corridor leading to her room when he is surprised by Rhaella running out, stopping dead in her tracks upon seeing him.

“Morning, love,” Jon says as greeting, opening his arms for her to jump in.

She does so excitedly, the force of her embrace almost knocking him off balance. He laughs. For a moment, he forgets his anguish and revels in the feel of her daughter in his arms, her little arms wrapped around his neck, her hair tickling his face. He’ll never get tired of this feeling.

“Slept well?” Jon asks, unable to resist the urge to place a kiss on the crown of her head.

She excitedly bobs her head as she untangles her arms from his shoulders. “I dreamt of a wolf. He was white. Like your wolf! Right?”

Jon chuckles, ruffling her hair. “He is white, yes. Was he very big too?”

“Yes!” Rhaella answers.

“Then it really was Ghost.”

Jon’s eyes dart up at the sight of Daenerys watching them. His breath catches in his throat. He hasn’t seen her in less than a day yet it feels like it’s been an eternity since their eyes last met. How has he gotten so used to her already when she’s been gone from his life for over five years? She is wearing an airy grey dress today, the sleeves loose and the gown entirely too large for her, swallowing her frame. He scans his face and sees it, the signs of distress. Her eyes look puffy, dark circles present under them, lips downturned.

“You can go out Rhaella,” Jon says distractedly, his gaze never leaving Daenerys’, “I’ll be joining you in a moment.”

When their daughter’s footsteps dissolve away, the air between Jon and Daenerys thickens with tension.

Until she breaks the eye contact and returns to her room without saying another word.

_Not today, Daenerys. You’re not running from me today._

He follows her, fingers flexing nervously at his sides.

Jon watches as Daenerys approaches her window.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

She doesn’t look back at him. “Nothing,” she answers in a little voice.

Jon sets his jaw. “Don’t do this, Daenerys. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Her shoulders slump in a defeated manner. “I just want to be alone.”

“No,” he decides.

Daenerys finally turns around to face him, brow furrowing at his defiance. “No?” she repeats.

“No,” he confirms, taking a step toward her. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you speak to me.” Three more steps and he is right in front of her, close enough to see that her eyes have lost their usual carefree spark, to see the worry lines on her forehead. She’s not okay. “I made that mistake once a long time ago and I’ve hated myself for it. I’m not going to leave you alone again when you are clearly unwell. Talk to me or don’t, I’m not leaving this room.”

When she bows her head, not offering a reply, Jon guesses, “is it because of me?”

Daenerys’ eyes shoot up again. “What?”

“Yesterday,” he clarifies and sees a flash of recognition on her face. Jon swallows thickly. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t…I must’ve overstepped. I’m sorry.” In truth, he doesn’t know if he is truly sorry. He wanted to kiss her back then and he still would want to kiss her just the same if that situation were to occur once more. His feelings for her rattle him in the deepest ways but he can’t deny the pull between them, constantly drawing him in like a moth to a flame. But if this is the reason why she’s avoiding him then he would never presume to touch her again.

Daenerys stares at him, mouth agape and much to his surprise – instead of ordering him out or confirming that she didn’t like what happened yesterday in the kitchens – Daenerys throws her arms around his neck and _hugs_ him.

Jon staggers backward, his arms spreading wide in the air, unsure of what to do. His eyes widen. And then his mind begins to connect the dots. Gods. She’s hugging him.

He wraps his arms around her without wasting another second and lets out a heavy breath. He hasn’t held her in his arms in _so_ long that he forgot how it felt to have her petite form pressed tightly against his, as if she was made to be in his hold. The last time he held her…she was dead. He shakes the horrifying thought away. His nose presses against her hair, a citrussy scent filling his nostrils. Jon closes his eyes, momentarily forgetting about everything around him other than the blissful feeling of _her._

“It’s not you,” she mumbles against his chest and he hears her sniffing.

Jon pulls away enough to be able to look at her but doesn’t let go of her. He frowns at her teary eyes, his heart dropping. “Dany,” he whispers, not realising he called her _that,_ desperate to try and ease whatever is bothering her, “what’s wrong?”

She slips out of his grasp and Jon curls his hands into fists to resist the urge to pull her back into his embrace. She stands at the window again, her eyes distant. “When I was in the air that day…I didn’t hear the destruction. I couldn’t. I heard Drogon’s roars, my heartbeat and my own cries but I didn’t hear the screams. I was too far away. They were screaming, weren’t they?”

Jon sucks in a deep breath, the images so vivid in his mind it’s painful. “Daenerys...”

“Tell me.”

He closes his eyes momentarily. “Yes,” he answers truthfully, brokenly.

“What kind of mother kills innocent children? A mother of monsters. That’s all I was. When I gave birth to Rhaella I wanted to give her away, how could I be a good mother to this innocent child after all the horrible things I had done?” Her voice breaks on the last syllable, a choked sob escaping her.

Jon forgets restraint then and strides forward, clutching her upper arms to make her face him. But she looks down, silent tears streaming down her face. He wipes them away with his thumbs. “You _are_ a good mother.” When Daenerys shakes her head in disagreement, Jon speaks louder, fiercer, “What happened cannot be justified, Daenerys, but we have to move past it. You’re more than just that. You did good things in the past, you’ve helped and freed people. All these things will never be erased. You saved the world against the Army of the Dead—”

“And I killed some of the people I saved right after,” she says.

Jon swallows. “And you died for it.”

“And I was brought back to life,” she points out, a bitter laugh coming out of her mouth. “Maybe that is part of the punishment too.”

“What does that mean? What is bothering you?”

“Kinvara came here yesterday to tell me that there have been more rumours about me being alive,” she says at last. “She thinks it’s only a matter of time before they are concretised…before _they_ come looking for me.”

“They?”

She meets his eyes. “You know whom.”

 _My family,_ he thinks. _And Tyrion. Everyone who wanted you dead._

“I was selfish to think that I could lead a happy life and ignore everything I had done. And when you came here, I thought that was my punishment. But no. You were also part of the dream. I thought we could all be happy now, the three of us. But that’ll never happen. Maybe that’s why I was brought back to life, to get a taste of everything I had ever wanted and have it ripped from me again,” she rambles on, her words choked up and roughened by her cries. “Gods know I deserve it.”

Jon is still processing everything she is saying when Daenerys continues.

“If Sansa’s rumour is what got you here then I can only imagine what’ll happen when she goes looking for her brother—cousin, doesn’t find him and realises that he went looking for the Queen he had killed. How long do you think it’ll take for her – for them – to realise that you not returning North means that you found me here?” There is panic in her voice, she sounds more frightened than ever.

Could Sansa and Bran do this? After everything? They both knew what killing Daenerys did to Jon. Would they be cruel enough to try and take her away from him once more?

Daenerys seems to take his silence as a bad sign for she steps away from him again and his arms feel cold without her.

She stares at him. “You still have faith in them,” she says dryly.

Jon blinks, not knowing what to say. Does he? They are his family. But it didn’t feel like it when no one tried to get him out of exile. It didn’t feel like it when Sansa schemed behind his back just for the North to get its independence. They are still Ned’s children and still the siblings he grew up with but after everything, he doesn’t know where to stand anymore.

They’ve made it clear that while the pack survived, they were fine with it being broken as long as they each got what they desired.

“I will _not_ let anyone hurt you or Rhaella,” he finally says, decidedly so. Taking in a deep breath, he says what she is reluctant to do herself. “I do not know what they’ll do if they find out. You’re not a threat to anyone anymore, you don’t even have…dragons or armies. But if you’re afraid that the information of you being alive is a threat to your safety and Rhaella’s, I swear I will not let any harm come to either of you. Even if that means I need to leave.”

She gives him a pained look. “I’m sorry,” says Daenerys at last.

Jon searches her eyes. “Why are you sorry?”

She shakes her head lightly, wiping at her tears. The sight bruises Jon deeper than he’d like to admit. “Because I wish there was another solution. I don’t want to be afraid of what’ll happen but I don’t trust them and I can’t put Rhaella’s life in danger. I know this is not fair to you.” She looks away thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t have to be this way,” she declares sadly before giving him one last lingering look and going out.

Jon sighs as she leaves.

 _It shouldn’t have to be this way_.

It does not have to be this way.

+

When Jon calls Tormund and Daenerys outside, he has already made up his mind about what he must do.

Daenerys is the first one to join him. His eyes glaze over her face, relieved to see that she seems less upset than before she spoke to him. But still, her eyes appear slightly puffier than normal, a stinging reminder of how she had cried earlier. She look at him, confusion and apprehension mixing in those amethyst depths.

Jon gives her a little, somewhat reassuring smile.

And before she can ask anything, Tormund arrives, eyeing the two of them in a bizarre manner.

“Uh, you wanted to talk to me? And her?” Tormund asks unsurely.

“Yes. I wanted to inform Daenerys that you wish to leave to go back North,” Jon states.

Daenerys blinks. “Alright.” Her statement sounds more like a question.

Tormund frowns as well. “I doubt this was worth an announcement.”

“I’m telling you this because I think it provides a good solution to our problem,” Jon continues, speaking directly to Daenerys.

Tormund jumps in. “You havin’ problems now?”

“Daenerys is afraid her resurrection is not going to remain a secret for too long,” Jon answers.

Tormund’s eyes widen. “Oh. That _is_ an issue.”

“An issue that Tormund going North can’t solve,” Daenerys butts in. “What are you even speaking of, Jon?”

“When Sansa came to me, it was clear that she didn’t believe you were alive. She thought of it a silly rumour and glossed over it in a conversation. I came here on my own volition because I had nothing to lose.” Jon pauses, looking into Daenerys’ eyes. “I had nothing at all.”

Her eyes soften as she nods, waiting for him to resume.

“Like you said, the first thing they’ll do if they hear more rumours about you being alive will be to look for me.”

“And they’ll find out we sailed East and didn’t return,” Tormund fills in. “They will know Daenerys must still be alive.”

“You are returning though,” Jon says.

Tormund frowns in confusion. “But not you.”

“A dead man can’t do that.”

Realisation dawns upon both Daenerys and Tormund and she looks at him incredulously. “You want to fake your death?” she asks, flabbergasted.

“It’s a good alternative,” Jon replies. “Think about it. Tormund goes back, confirms that we never found any trace of you here, that it was all just a stupid rumour by the common folk and that—”

“And that you died,” Tormund exclaims. “Don’t you think they’ll have some questions about that? How you fuckin’ _died_?”

“We went to a whole other continent. So many things could’ve happened. From sicknesses to accidents. You have a long voyage to think about it. At least that’ll dampen most rumours about Daenerys and it will give us time to figure something out…” He gauges her expression carefully when he says, “together.”

Daenerys’ mouth hangs open, eyes filled with surprise and something _else_.

He cannot put his finger on it as Tormund groans. “Are you sure about this? Are you aware of the implications? You’ll never be able to show your face again.”

Jon doesn’t break away from Daenerys’ intense gaze. “I’m aware of what it would mean,” he tells his friend. “And I accept it.”

Daenerys wets her lips. “Can you leave us for a moment, Tormund?” she asks calmly.

Tormund nods.

The moment the door closes behind him, Daenerys snaps, “Are you out of your bloody mind? Do you know what you’re talking about?”

Jon flinches. “I would think you’d be okay with it, thought you’d be relieved we can work through an alternative.” He can’t help himself from biting, “Or perhaps you’d rather I leave.”

Her eyes flash with fury. “Of course not. I don’t want you to leave,” she says, voice as hard as steel. “But what you’re considering is even more insane.”

“How?” he argues. “It wasn’t something huge to anyone when they sent me to the Night’s Watch. Why would it be a big deal if I died? It’s not like anyone cared what I became beyond the Wall. It’s not as if anyone asked me what it felt like killing the love of my life. None of them did. Tyrion had the nerve to say he also loved you but when he came to visit me in that godforsaken prison cell, he never once spoke of you again. He kept me updated on politics and who was sitting on Bran’s stupid council, acting as if getting rid of you was just another mundane event that occurred in the grand scheme of things. I don’t even remember if Sam, my supposed best friend, talked to me before I left. Sansa asked me for forgiveness but I couldn’t grant it to her because she not only broke my trust but she maintained that it was what she had to do. So I knew she would do it all over again if it came down to it. And Bran—” Jon humourlessly snorts, “Bran said I was exactly where I needed to be. Gods know what that meant. They have all moved on with their lives. I should too. I have nothing left there.”

His words have moved her, that much is obvious from the number of emotions dancing across her face. Daenerys clasps her hands in front of her, shaking her head weakly. “It’s easy for me to hide here with Rhaella because she is literally all that I have left. I don’t need anyone or anything else. But you…no matter what, you still have all these people. You’re willing to give it all up—in perpetuity—to stay here with us? We’ll most likely have to be on the run if something were to happen. This is all we’ll ever have. Is that enough for you? You’re willing to give up on your family for _this_ life?” She gestures around her with her hands, as if this place is not good enough for him, someone who has spent the majority of his life in despair and isolation.

Funnily, Daenerys has always been the only person to worry about _him._ He remembers Tyrion warning him that she would turn against him for power, that his claim to the Iron Throne would be a threat to her and she would try to get rid of him. Even Arya insinuated so.

But Daenerys never turned against him. Even in her last, darkest moments—she had looked up at him with eyes full of love and hope, begging him to rule a ruined kingdom with her. She was not doing the right thing, of course, but her intentions for _him_ stayed pure until the end. He had turned down her advances twice already by then, had pushed her away instead of trying to console her but she still wanted and loved him until her last breath.

He chose duty over love his whole life. It got him killed, betrayed, tossed aside and exiled. He is so tired of it all now. Always the realm before his own wishes, always duty and honour above all else.

Let him choose love this time.

Let love be the death of duty and he doesn’t care what the damned gods will do about it. He has already hit the lowest lows of his life, he does not see how it could ever get any worse.

Jon boldly moves until he is close enough to touch her. And he does touch her. He lifts a hand to her cheek, palm gently resting on her soft skin. Daenerys inadvertently leans into his touch, violet eyes gleaming. “ _You_ are also my family,” he says, voice barely above a roughened whisper. “You both are. And aye, it’s more than enough for me. You have no idea.”

Daenerys’ breath hitches, a thunderstorm of emotions brewing in her lovely amethyst irises. “Say that again,” she demands softly.

Jon leans in closer to her, unable to stop the rush of feelings that overtakes his body when she is looking at him like _that_ —as if the world ceased to exist around them. “Say what?”

“Me being your family. I’d longed to hear someone other than Viserys tell me this. And it’s not like he was kind with his words either. So, no, I’ve never truly had someone tell me that I’m their family. I never felt like I had one.”

Jon’s heart breaks at the tone of her voice — fragile and sad — and he leans his forehead against hers, whispering the words to her, “You are as much my family as they are. And now with Rhaella, even more. I could sail back North and pretend I never saw you again but I’d hate every fucking second of not knowing whether you two are safe here. So let me be here. I know it doesn’t erase everything that happened but let me choose _you_ this time. I promise that I will do anything to keep you two safe.”

Daenerys exhales softly, her breath hot against his chin as she looks up at him, eyes damp. She places her own hand on top of his, the one against her cheek. “I told you to stop promising me things,” she says, but her voice is quiet and not one bit reproachful.

Jon’s lips twitch. “Alright then. I apologise. I don’t promise to keep you safe, but I’ll try my damned best if you’ll have me.”

“I suppose that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Is that a yes? Do you want me to stay?”

Daenerys smiles now. “I mean, Rhaella would hate me for sending her favourite teacher away. Who’s going to teach her how to ride horses then?”

Jon chuckles but, selfishly, this is not what he wants to hear. He runs his thumb down her cheekbone, testing the softness of her skin. “What about you? I asked, do _you_ want me to stay?”

Daenerys hums in agreement. “I can use whatever help I can get, however bad it may be, in the kitchen.”

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks in a quick exhale, not giving himself time to overthink the words. He wants to. _Badly_. And she looks like she wishes to as well. But he could be wrong and he does not want to overstep and above all else, he does not want to frighten her.

Daenerys’ lips part, the sight enticing and inviting. “Will you not be disgusted by it?” she asks and even though it sounds like a jest, Jon sees the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. His chest aches at the thought that she really believes that he could be disgusted by her. He can’t blame her for her doubts, but it still hurts him.

“I guess I’ll have to test it to see.”

It’s just a soft meeting of lips at first but his head spins all the same, like it always used to whenever they kissed in the past. Her nose brushes against his own, her lips plump and yielding beneath his own before she slowly moves them, kissing him back. Jon has to bite back a groan at how good it feels. He should probably be ashamed of how fast his body reacts to hers just due to an innocent kiss but he’s long stopped caring about things making sense when it comes to Daenerys. It doesn’t make sense that his heart feels like it might pop out of his chest whenever she smiles at or laughs with him. Doesn’t make sense how she is literally the only thing that makes him feel alive and how losing her had brought more emptiness than his own death ever had.

The kiss is so sweet Jon is afraid he is going to wake up and find out that this has been a dream. That she is not truly alive, that they don’t have a beautiful daughter together, that she is not currently wrapping her arms around his neck to bring his mouth closer to hers, her eyelashes tickling his skin as he angles her head to the side to deepen the kiss.

_If this is a dream, never wake me up. Let me die here._

But it is very much real. Even his most realistic imaginations would never be able to compare to the feeling of her mouth on his, to the distinctive quiet sounds she makes when he pulls her bottom lip between his own or to the sensations he feels when her slender fingers comb through the curls at the base of his neck. He spent five years trying to embed everything – every touch and kiss and late night conversation between them – in his brain but he was only human and slowly, Jon was inevitably beginning to forget little things about their relationship. Unimportant things he never wished to cease to remember _._ And every time he did forget one thing, he would hate himself for it.

Who can blame his heart for hammering against his chest right now, when he finally has her in his arms again, _kissing_ him, something that feels so surreal he is afraid it might just be? He cups her cheeks in both hands, refusing to be parted from her even to breathe.

When Daenerys opens her mouth to welcome the hot slide of his tongue against hers, it serves as a trance breaker for she immediately draws back, their heavy puffs of breaths mixing in the air between them.

Jon swallows, his lips still tingling, _Daenerys_ invading all of his senses beautifully. “Not disgusted at all,” he reflects jokingly, hoping to ease some tension if there is any.

Dany looks up at him, pupils blown wide and mouth prettily bruised from his kisses and beard. She offers a little smile, chewing on her lower lip reflectively. “I’m sorry, I…”

Jon understands, letting go of her slowly. “Too much?”

Daenerys nods but she says, “I _want_ to make things right between us, I swear.”

“I know, Dany, we’ll do it slowly,” he swears.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Dany again now?”

Jon feels heat rise up in his neck. “Sorry, I meant—”

“Dany is fine,” she interjects, eyes warm.

Jon smiles.

A small victory but a meaningful one either way.

He got Dany back. _His_ Dany.

+

Rhaella is the first one to hug Tormund goodbye and Jon chuckles at how small his daughter looks in the wildling’s arms. “I will miss you Tormund,” she says sadly. He’s been an unusual friend to her but Rhaella grew fond of Tormund’s tales (and Daenerys reminded him numerous times _not_ to recount the one about how he earned the name Giantsbane).

Tormund kisses the top of her head as he places her back on the ground. “So will I, little girl.”

He turns to Daenerys and smiles widely. “It’s been a pleasure, dragon girl. Especially our trips to the market.” When he embraces Dany, Jon notices that he whispers something in her ear and she listens attentively before giving him a sincere smile when he pulls away.

“Have a safe trip, Tormund,” Daenerys says.

When he faces Jon again, tears have gathered at the corners of his eyes. “My little crow,” he sighs affectionately. “We part ways again.”

Jon’s throat clogs up with emotions. “This time we’re not on the brink of a war, though.”

Tormund hugs Jon, the embrace tight enough to cut all blood circulations and Jon chokes on a laugh. “And this time I leave you knowing you’ll be happy,” he says.

Jon pulls away. “You’ll be fine up North without me?”

“I’ll have Ghost.”

“Look after him,” Jon says, his white friend flashing in his mind. “Look after yourself, Tormund.”

“Take care of yourself,” Tormund says, patting Jon’s cheek. “And take care of them. I’ll do what I need to do.”

Watching Tormund leave is bittersweet for Jon and he stays there a bit longer, staring at his friend’s back as he and the horse disappear down the road.

He feels a presence behind her and knows it’s Daenerys without having to look back. Still, he glances over his shoulder, weakly smiling at her.

“You’re alright?” she asks, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Come meet me outside. The sun will set soon.”

+

“Why are you looking at me like this?”

“Because you’re pretty in the sunlight.”

Daenerys rolls her eyes as she laughs, bringing the cup of tea to her mouth to take a sip, watching him in amusement under dark lashes.

He’s not lying.

There’s no lovelier sight than Daenerys Targaryen sitting cross-legged on the grass in a pretty dress, loose hair bouncing down her back and chest in silver waves which are bathing in the sun’s rays, making her look like a goddess crowned in gold.

“You know…you never said such sweet things to me when we were together,” she jokes.

Jon frowns. “I always called you pretty,” he argues.

“Not in the end,” she teases. “It was always ‘my queen’ this, ‘my queen’ that…I could’ve used a few compliments.”

Jon drinks his own tea silently. He does admit, he’s not been the best… _lover_ in the end. Guilt swims in his chest. “I’m sorry, Dany. I should’ve—should’ve reminded you that my feelings for you didn’t change. That I just needed time.”

Daenerys’ smile fades at the change in tone. “I was only messing with you,” she says quietly. “You said it yourself, we need to move past it now. We’ve both acknowledged our mistakes, Jon. If we keep going back to them then we’ll never move on.”

Jon takes in a deep breath. “What do we do from here?”

“Well,” she wets her lips, “if your plan works out and Tormund is able to convince them that I’m not alive then I suppose we’re safe. For how long, I don’t know.”

“And if it doesn’t work then we should move. Find a new place.”

“Yes. Although I admit being on the run is not something I would wish for Rhaella. I know how it feels.” A dark look crosses her face.

“Then let’s hope it all works out,” he says, taking her hand in his and interlacing their fingers. Daenerys’ face softens, the haunted look replaced by a warm one.

“Speaking of Tormund, what was he even telling you before he left?” he asks.

Daenerys patiently sips her tea, making a point to annoy him. Jon scowls at her playfully. She smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Well, yes. I asked.”

“Maybe I do not wish to tell you— _oh._ ”

Her squeal as Jon pulls her to him by the hand he was holding makes him chuckle. She glares at him. “I could’ve spilled my tea,” she scolds.

He mindlessly grabs the cup from her hand and places it on the grass next to them before capturing both of her hands in his own, their faces only inches apart from each other. “Tell me,” he insists.

Daenerys narrows her eyes at him playfully. “Fine,” she mumbles, leaning closer and biting her lip as she pins him with a heated look. Jon’s eyes drop to her lips and finds it highly unfair that she gets to bite down on them and not him. “He said ‘take care of my little crow, he loves you more than you know’.”

Jon freezes at the words as Daenerys tilts her head at him, a look of innocence on her face. “Since you wanted to know so badly, I believe you can also tell me whether he was saying the truth or not.”

Jon doesn’t even wish to deny it. As complicated as his feelings are for her, there is love there. Undoubtedly. “I reckon you know the answer to that,” Jon tells her truthfully.

Her smile drops, a primal look present in her eyes when they find his own. Jon gulps, trying his hardest to resist the sweet temptation of that hungry look. He doesn’t know how to properly describe their relationship but he knows she wants to go slow. So he will. As slow as she wishes.

Even if he wants nothing more but to _devour_ her when she looks at him like she is at the moment. Gods be good.

Daenerys lets out a shaky breath as she looks away from him. When she meets her eyes again, she seems more composed now. “Given that you will be living with us now, I suppose you could find an occupation. I wish I could work but I have Rhaella and it’s not like I can wander around on the streets looking like I do.”

Jon nods. “That is a good idea. I could find something useful to do.”

“You are a man of many talents, I’m sure you’ll find something.” She gives him a teasing smile. “And I know someone who has good knowledge about available work in the city.”

“Who?”

“Daario.”

Jon’s mood turns acidic almost instantly. With a frown, he lets go of Daenerys’ hands.

“Jon,” she warns, sighing.

He meets her eyes. “If you haven’t noticed, I don’t like him.”

“I think even he noticed,” she says. “You know, you could’ve taken a lover in the North—”

“I didn’t,” he cuts her off sharply.

She gives him a look. “I know you did not. I’m saying you could have.”

“But I didn’t,” he presses. “I swore an oath before leaving but even without that I would have never.” He stares at the swinging grass. “Not after you,” he adds.

“But I did.” Daenerys frowns to herself.

“I don’t blame you for it,” he says.

“I was confused, hurt and angry beyond words when I first awoke from the…dead. Daario was there for me and it was easy to fall back in the arms of someone who didn’t betray me.”

The words sting but Jon understands where she is coming from. “Everyone deals with sorrow in different ways. I do not blame you for searching familiarity, Dany.” His mouth twists at the memory of him kissing her, though. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

She reaches for his hand again, sliding her slender fingers through his calloused ones. Jon looks down at their hands and back to her face. “Understandable. Don’t think I would have liked seeing you kiss that wildling girl either.” She scrunches her nose in fake disgust.

Jon quirks a brow. “Tormund told you that?”

She grins in response. “What was her name?”

He groans. “I don’t know her name.”

Daenerys feigns a look of horror. “Not very honourable of you now, is it?”

“She threw herself at me when we were both drunk. Don’t think I ever saw that girl again in my life.”

Daenerys giggles, the sound as sweet as the smell of Rhaella’s flowers around them. “I don’t blame her,” Dany says, tone suggestive.

Jon chews the inside of his cheeks. “You’re going to have to stop looking at me like this if you want to take anything slow,” he warns her.

A dangerous spark dances in her eyes. “Taking things slow does not mean not doing anything at all,” she declares, the heat in her gaze a silent invitation.

Jon tugs her closer until his mouth ghosts over her cheek. “So, this is still slow,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her left cheek and then her right, watching as the skin reddens as he pulls away. He lightly grazes his cheek against hers, enjoying the quickening of her breath.

Daenerys hums approvingly, her gaze locked on his mouth.

Her hand comes up to rest on his jaw and he revels in the feel of her fingers tracing his beard ever so gently. Just when their lips touch, a feather-light brush of their mouths, a shout erupts. “Mama! I’m hungry.”

Daenerys pulls away and Jon closes his eyes at the loss, sighing in exasperation.

She looks amused at his tortured expression. “Welcome to the life of being a parent.” He watches as her dress sways enticingly when she walks away from him, informing Rhaella that she is coming.

He doesn’t mind that life at all, he thinks fondly, watching his two girls from afar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was probably my least favourite to write so it took me a while to do it. this story was supposed to be 6 chapters long but lol i tend to get carried away when writing. i really don't want to be dragging this any longer than it ought to be because frankly season 8 was too hard for me and to have to write those versions of jon and dany...yeah, it sucks, ngl. most of the time i'm like "damn??? this should not have happened at all" when i'm writing this story and then i get angry all over again at the fact that it DID happen. it's frustrating. i'm a lot more comfortable with modern au's so i can't wait to wrap this up and go find comfort in my sweet, simple modern aus again. 
> 
> so yeah all of this just to say canon jonerys is a pain in the ass to write about. truly. i get why it’s also such a sensitive topic and why i have to deal with annoying comments. but oh well. as soon as this story is finished i’ll most likely pretend game of thrones’ last season got cancelled.
> 
> kudos and comments are so appreciated. :)


	7. DANY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In her dream they had been man and wife, simple folk who lived a simple life in a tall stone house with a red door. In her dream he had been kissing her all over—her mouth, her neck, her breasts.” — Daenerys II, A Dance with Dragons.

 Daenerys awakes with the strange feeling that she is being watched.

As she cracks open one eye, her doubts are confirmed at the sight of dark grey eyes finding her own. She hears herself give out a raspy chuckle as she brings a hand to her eyes, wiping away the sleepiness from them.

Last night, Rhaella was complaining about having nightmares. Dany tried to calm her down the best she could but the little girl refused to sleep, twisting and turning on her bed as she whined. When Jon came in to bid them good night as he’s been doing every single night now, he noticed that neither of them was getting much sleep and decided to keep them company for a while.

He told Rhaella funny tales about the North and his direwolf, a creature that Rhaella had never met but seemed to endlessly adore, and Daenerys watched them from her side of the room, smiling as he tried his hardest to get his daughter to sleep. When she eventually did, Jon heaved a sigh of relief and pressed a kiss to Rhaella’s forehead before making his way to the door.

Daenerys bit her lip, a wild idea coming to mind. She wasn’t sure if she should do it but it was late and she was tired of sleeping in a cold bed so she cleared her throat and asked, “Perhaps you could stay here tonight.”

Jon looked surprised, blinking slowly in the dark. “I could?” he asked, voice barely a murmur.

Daenerys found herself nodding. “She could wake up again and I could really use some help if that happens,” she half-lied. Sure she could use his aid but she knew she could also handle it on her own, like she’d been doing for so long, but a little company never hurt.

Jon seemed to know she was only being partly truthful for the candle illuminated the shadows of a smile dancing across his lips as he crossed the path to her bed. Her heart was beating loudly when he took off his boots and got in bed with her.

She awkwardly shuffled to the other side, not knowing what she was supposed to do. Sleeping with him was once the easiest and most familiar thing in the world but now that so much had happened, she wondered how they even got back to where they currently were—sharing a bed together, with a sleeping daughter by their side. The thought was as bitter as it was sweet.

He took little space and seemed to try his best not to get into her personal space, reminding her of how he promised they could take things as slow if she wished. She didn’t know how slow _she_ wanted to go. Kissing him was overwhelming but it did not only bring back terrible memories, it also reminded her of the man she’d fallen in love with and how some of the happiest moments of her life had been with him.

He faced her, a sheepish smile on his face. “Sleep well, Dany,” he said quietly.

Daenerys found herself smiling back and before she could help it, she reached across and pulled off the leather band that stubbornly held captive his beautiful curls. As his hair fell on his face, her grin grew wider. She tossed the hair tie away carelessly and Jon snorted.

“You used to sleep better like this,” she remarked.

“Aye,” he replied, voice soft, “I’ll sleep better like this.”

Although she was not quite certain whether he was talking about his hair or her.

That is the last thing she remembers from last night as she wakes up this morning. When consciousness fully enters her system, she realises that her leg is slung over Jon’s, left arm draping across his waist. Heat rushes to her cheeks.

A glance at her window and she notices that it’s too bright outside to be her usual waking time. “Could you not have woken me up?” she asks accusingly, slowly disentangling her limbs from him.

Jon does not look apologetic when he says, “I’m sorry. The view was quite nice.”

She hopes she is not blushing like a silly maid, but she probably is. “Since when have you become a bleeding poet, Jon Snow?”

He smiles at her. “I’m not. But I try for you.”

Daenerys shakes her head in amusement, yawning. She lifts her head the slightest to peek at a sleeping Rhaella. “Did she wake up again in the night?”

“Yes. Twice.”

Daenerys widens her eyes. “Truly?”

Jon laughs. “No.”

She huffs. “You’re insufferable,” she says, hitting his chest playfully.

Jon captures her hand and places a kiss on her palm, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

Her breath hitches in her chest, butterflies taking flight in her belly as his lips move over her skin. Under his smouldering gaze, it’s hard to remember why she wishes to take her time with him.

Daenerys forces herself to stay sane as he presses a kiss on her wrist, her pulse stuttering. “Jon,” she whispers.

“What?” he mumbles, breath hot on her hand.

“I have to get up.”

He sighs. “We can stay here until Rhaella gets up.”

Just then, they hear shuffling and their daughter yawns loudly, mumbling something to herself as she wakes up. Daenerys chuckles. Jon groans.

+

The following weeks are a peaceful bliss.

Jon has learned the way they live almost perfectly now and their little family seems to be working out just as well. As Daenerys watches the way Rhaella and her father bond over so many things – from their love for horses and the inside jokes they share, wickedly refusing to tell her about them – she wonders how she once thought she would’ve ever felt happier being Queen of Seven Kingdoms.

Power was an addiction and the sense of superiority it brought was something she loved and craved, undoubtedly. She felt untouchable and meaningful, as if she was supposed to save the world and then rule it. But she was so wrong. Love is better than power, quietness in her home is better than having to overlook numerous kingdoms from a lonely tower and the sight of her daughter laughing is lovelier than any crown could ever be.

 _This_ is the life she wanted, the life she never thought she could have so she told herself she had to be seize power to replace the desire to belong somewhere.

She’d touched the Iron Throne—the goal she had sought out all her life, had turned mountains upside down to achieve. And all she felt was a hollowness that is now nowhere to be found, even if she has far less now than what she used to.

But she has a family. And a place to call home. No ugly chair made of swords could possibly compete with this.

On the other hand, her relationship with Jon is difficult to put into words. They clearly care for each other very deeply and Daenerys is pretty sure they’d be lying to themselves if they try to deny that there is still love between them. They’ve grown closer and have kissed numerous times now, sober or drunk.

But nothing ever happens beyond that. She wants to. He obviously wants to. But they can never cross that line. And she knows it is her fault.

Three nights ago, they walked outside to talk and out of the blue, he’d grabbed her face and kissed her. Just like that. Daenerys was taken aback at first, staggering backwards but recovered quickly and her body betrayed her mind, opening up to him eagerly. She kissed him back, lips and tongue and teeth, until blood was pounding in her ears and their shattered breaths echoed through the night. She moaned helplessly when he bit on her bottom lip and then his mouth was on her throat, kissing, licking, biting on her flesh. She felt like she could explode—heat pulsing through her body, nipples aching and cunt throbbing. She wanted him so badly every part of her ached.

“Dany,” he whispered against the base of her throat, his hands sliding up her waist and to the front of her gown.

But the moment his fingers started tugging at the laces, she felt a burning sensation around her chest and behind closed eyelids she saw his shocked face when his dagger pierced her skin right where his hands are touching at the moment.

She pulled away so fast she almost fell down.

Wide eyes stared into her own, Jon’s chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, same as her. Bruised lips parted in a silent question and Daenerys could see the hurt in his eyes.

She swallowed. Hard. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out.

Jon shook his head, his breathing slowly coming back to a normal rate. “It’s fine…”

“No, it’s not,” she said, sighing softly. He’d been so patient with her lately it hurt. “I know you’re trying your hardest to understand me but—but you _can’t_. Even I can’t sometimes. I’m trying to move on, I promise I am.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted, coming closer to her. “You don’t have to try to _want_ me, Dany—”

“But I do. I want…this. Us. I want things to be back to how they once were,” she muttered angrily, disappointed in herself.

Jon wrapped his arms around her shoulders and Daenerys placed her head against his chest, closing her eyes at the sound of his steady heartbeat beneath her ear. He pressed his mouth against her hair when he spoke, “We’ll get through it. I know we will.”

She burrowed herself deeper in the safety of his chest, her arms looping around his back. She felt warm again. “What if I can never move past it?” she asked, heart in her throat as she waited for his reply. She raised her head to meet his eyes, noting how much conflict was written in them. “What if there’s something that broke between us that cannot be fixed, no matter how long we wait?”

Even when pain filled his eyes, Jon never let her go. He even managed a weak smile, which broke what was left of her heart. “Then we’ll be Rhaella’s parents and nothing more. I’ll accept whatever your decision is.”

She wept that night, hoping she could be with him again without feeling haunted by her past.

+

A moon has passed when one sunny afternoon, Jon accompanies Daenerys to the market. As they walk, he begins to moan about the unbearable temperature.

“Maybe if you get rid of this…leather and wear something lighter you’d feel better,” she muses.

Jon broods like a child, stubbornly clinging to his old gambesons and worn-out leather coats. “I like my clothes,” he says as he brushes his fingers against his forehead, a light sheen of sweat coating his digits.

“I miss Tormund. At least he didn’t complain half as much,” she jokes.

Jon narrows his eyes at her. “You liked Tormund better because he enjoyed making fun of me.”

Daenerys stifles a laugh. After a beat, she asks, “do you miss him?”

He nods. “He was pretty much the only person who kept me sane after what happened,” he says quietly. “But I know he belongs in the North.”

Dany glances at Jon and sees just how poorly he is taking the heat. The apples of his cheeks have reddened under the sun, moisture collecting on his curly hair. He looks so uncomfortable that it incites Daenerys to suddenly decide, “We _need_ to get you new clothes.”

“I told you I’m fine—”

“Jon, you’ve known me for a long time. Do you think I take no for an answer easily?” she deadpans.

His lips curl knowingly. “Absolutely not.”

She smiles. “Exactly.”

She takes him to the merchant she usually buys her and Rhaella’s clothes from. The streets are loud and busy on these days, the sellers yelling their discounted prices and the civilians pushing each other around to be the first buyers.

Dany takes Jon to the old woman – Velira – who sells the most beautiful garments in this city, at least according to Daenerys. Her right eye is completely white, a close-to-death accident that robbed her of her sight from that one eye but she tells Daenerys that she sees a lot more than people with two eyes do. She is a mysterious woman, with charcoal-black hair, caramel-coloured skin and a golden tooth. Sometimes she looks at Daenerys as if she knows who she is, despite her scarf to cover her silver hair. But she also sells the most beautiful clothes so Dany always finds herself going back to her.

She greets Daenerys with a big smile today and gives Jon, who awkwardly fidgets in place, a questioning look.

“ _Rytsa,_ ” Dany greets the woman.

She nods. “ _Skoros iksis ziry bona ao jaelagon naejot sindigon tubī?_ ” she asks Daenerys what she wishes to buy for today.

Daenerys can see Jon is struggling to even understand a word, dark brow furrowed together in concentration. She smiles wickedly. “ _Daor syt nyke.  Nyke jorrāelagon grēze syt bisa vala kesīr.  Mirros naejot dohaeragon lēda se bāneves.  Ziry's daor gaomagon naejot ziry_. _Se mēre bona mazverdagon zirȳla jurnegon gevie_.”

The women exchange funny looks as Velira lets her gaze sweep up and down Jon’s frame, laughing. “ _Nyke gīmigon sepār skoros ao jorrāelagon_.”

As the old woman turns around, getting up with the help of her cane to rummage through her garments, Jon leans down to whisper in Dany’s ear, “I know _that_ smile. What did you ask her?”

She looks up at him innocently. “I don’t know what you are speaking about.”

Jon glares at her. “You know exactly what I’m—”

“Daenerys,” Velira calls out as she places two pieces of clothing on the table in front of them.

Daenerys’ eyes widen as Jon makes a sound from the back of his throat, something between a groan and a chuckle. “No,” he says, “I’m not wearing this.”

“It’s so pretty,” Dany coos, touching the silk with her fingers. It flows like water. “And see how soft it is. It would help with the heat.”

The two coats the merchant shows them are pretty much what men around here wear. One is bright red with an interesting pattern of snakes embroidered onto it and the other one yellow. They are both open in the front with buttons to secure the whole thing together. Or leave it open, Daenerys thinks amusedly, imagining what Jon would look like in this sort of Essosi fashion, his chest bared. She blushes at the image her mind concocts.

“It’s so…bright,” Jon complains childishly.

“Anything that’s not black is too bright for you,” she drawls, rolling her eyes before looking up at the old woman. She tells Velira she will take both, “ _Īlon'll gūrogon se lanta_.”

Daenerys fetches the coins to pay for it and Jon is scowling at her, like the stubborn man he is. “Fine,” he says darkly, “if you want me to wear those silly clothes then it’s only fair I get something for you as well.”

He chooses the thinnest dress Daenerys has ever seen, the material too translucent to be called white, the neckline dipping too low to even be known as a neckline and only a flowery belt at the waist to hold it together. Dany watches as he smiles cheekily. “ _That_ , unlike what I’ve chosen for you, cannot be called a dress,” she says. She is used to indecency but this one might be most useless excuse for a dress she’s ever seen.

The black-haired woman seems to have noticed too for she smirks as she folds it along with their other clothes. “ _Ao se aōha valzȳrys kessa emagon iā lot hen kirimves rȳ bantis_ ,” she comments slyly.

Daenerys blinks in shock, heat flooding her face.

As they walk away, Jon nudges her side. “What did she say back there?” he asks.

“‘You and your husband will have a lot of fun tonight’,” Daenerys admits sheepishly.

Jon coughs, eyes growing larger as his skin flushes deep crimson—this time, not from the heat. “So,” he clears his throat as he speaks, “we need to find the vegetables, right?”

+

As much as he complains about it, Daenerys thinks Jon looks absolutely perfect in his new Essosi attire. The colour red suits him just right, better than his usual dark grey or black outfits. _He is a Targaryen after all,_ a distant voice from another life reminds her.

Watching him all day long—walking around in his new coat, the lack of sleeves making his muscular arms pop out and the low cut making it impossible for Dany not to notice the top of his chest, more muscles and smooth pale skin, skin she used to know very intimately—has been sweet torture.

After the other night, when she was beginning to doubt her ability to move on, he has not attempted to touch her again.

She refuses to admit it to anyone other than herself but it has been frustrating. She knows she brought this on herself when she voiced her doubts about their growing affections and she knows that Jon will never try to force her into something she is not completely sure of, which is why he has been keeping his distance accordingly, but all this has done is open her eyes to the fact that she still very much craves him.

And not just on a physical level.

After she came back to life, everything was different. She felt like she was in Daenerys Targaryen’s body but could never find her soul or her heart. Daario tried to help her. When Dany asked Kinvara to bring her a friend, someone who still loved her, he was the one who showed up. He wanted to help her take revenge. He asked her to re-assemble her forces, to plan an attack on King’s Landing.

And then she gave birth to this beautiful baby girl and the moment her violet eyes met Daenerys’, she had an answer to all of Daario’s questions: no. No, she would not attack anyone. No, she would not seek revenge on those who wronged her. No, she would not look back. She would not lose herself again. She would go forward. With her daughter.

But even Rhaella failed to fill the hole in her being. Her daughter was everything she ever wanted and Daenerys could not have been happier for the years of joy that followed—watching her say her first word, walk her first step, take the first flower she picked…. But sometimes she lay on her bed late at night, long after her little bundle of joy had drifted to sleep, and wondered where Jon was. It was stronger than her will to forget about him; that itch to know how he was doing, whether he regretted killing her, whether he also felt the same numbness inside of him without her.

On the first nights, she was so angry and hurt that she prayed he was doing horribly. Prayed he was miserable and disgusted with himself. _Let him suffer,_ she begged to the skies, _let him rot and don’t give him an easy death._

But then she looked at Rhaella and she was the exact image of Jon. From her curly black hair to the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. And Daenerys cried to herself on countless nights then, hugging her knees to her chest and hating everything that had torn Jon from her.

She took Daario to bed thinking it would help remind her of the woman she used to be before dying. She wanted to feel alive again, not just a mind in a body that no longer seemed to connect with her. Even Daario could not help.

But Jon is different.

Being with him again makes her feel everything she desperately wanted to after being resurrected. She feels whole once more, no longer a wandering soul but Daenerys Targaryen.

This night, long after Rhaella has fallen asleep, Daenerys is the one who goes to him.

She decided to wear the flimsy dress he got her to sleep (because that is clearly the only appropriate way to wear this thing) and, thrillingly, wants his reaction to it. So she knocks on his door three times, soft raps against the wood, and holds her breath as she waits for him to come out.

When the door moves to reveal Jon, she feels her insides twist and squeeze as grey eyes fall upon her own. And slowly, down her body. Inspecting her in a way that makes her feel breathless and young again, his molten gaze licking at her skin. She’s seen herself in the looking glass, saw the way the material clung to her curves and skin and how _everything_ underneath was almost visible. When his eyes lock on hers again, they are darkened with lust. His throat bobs before he says, voice low, “You were right. A stupid excuse for a dress.”

Daenerys smiles. “You insisted.”

Jon clears his throat, looking away from her as if to recollect his thoughts. “It’s late. Do you wish to take a walk?”

“No,” she answers, her heartbeat slowly picking up. “Can I come in?”

Jon falters. They always went outside for a walk to talk. She never requested being in his room. In fact, she hasn’t been in his room at all—especially not during the night.

He blinks and nods. Pushes the door wider for her to enter.

Daenerys goes in and before she can lose the nerve to do so, she turns back to him and says, “I used to dream about a life like this, you know?”

Jon’s hand is still on the handle as he looks at her. “A life like what?”

“Close the door,” she orders.

He obliges and then faces her, the energy between them shifting to something more intense now that they are here, locked away, and alone. No interruptions this time.

“A simple life in a little house. Walking among the commonfolk—being one of them.” She watches his face intently as she says, “I dreamed of a comely lover whose face was always hidden in the shadows.”

Conveniently, shadows are dancing across his face. The two candles in his room doing close to nothing to mask the desire in his gaze when he looks at her. He wets his lips, eyes skipping hers. “Well you have it now. A simple life, I mean. You’re just a commoner living in your little house….”

Daenerys walks closer to him and Jon shifts on his feet, eyeing her suspiciously. “What about the last part?” she inquires softly.

Jon lets out a heavy breath. “Dany,” he whispers, “you said it yourself—what if you can’t ever forget what happened?”

“I want to try.”

He closes his eyes as she inches closer, lifting a palm to touch his cheek. “Are you sure about this?” he asks huskily.

Daenerys finds herself nodding, pressing himself against her and Jon sucks in a sharp breath at the feel of her body against his, her nipples erect as she pushes her chest against his, making her desires known.

“Tell me when to stop,” he tells her quietly before lowering his face to hers.

Even then, he pauses before kissing her, letting his lips brush over hers, giving her time to back off. Daenerys huffs slightly, digging her fingers into his hair as she crashes his mouth down on hers.

He kisses her softly as if he is afraid he will break her any moment now and Daenerys is the one to open her mouth, to find his tongue with her own. This emboldens Jon just the slightest as he finally rests his hands on her hips, gently tugging her closer to him, angling her jaw backwards with his left hand to get a better access to her mouth.

Daenerys’ blood is beating loud in her veins, in sync to a beautiful song of desire and passion. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pours all of the emotions she feels into the kiss; the want, the love, the uncertainty and even all the anger and frustration she once felt. Their kisses grow messier, tongues and teeth clashing as they pant in each other’s mouths.

Heat collects at the pits of her guts, lust clouding her mind.

Jon pulls away from her mouth and Dany chases the loss of contact, breathing heavily. He gives her a teasing smile before pecking her on the lips then moving to kiss her jaw, all the way up to her right ear. “Do you want to stop?” he breathes out before tugging at her earlobe with his sharp teeth, making her gasp in his arms.

She pushes hard at his chest and Jon’s face contorts in concern for a second, perhaps thinking that yes, she does want to stop. Instead, Daenerys walks him back to the wall next to the door before pressing herself against him once more, feeling the hard planes of his body and the very evident proof of his desire, thick against her stomach. “If I want to stop,” she murmurs, “I will. Now kiss me.”

Jon does not need to be told twice. This time, he kisses her hungrily, a hint of desperation present, stroking his tongue against her mouth, nipping and licking at her bottom lip. She mewls into his mouth as he swallows the sound with a groan of his own, his hands mapping her hips, waist and cupping her bottom.

Dany’s hands drift across his chest, enjoying the silk of his new garment as she reaches for the buttons which hold the whole thing together and she tugs—hard. Jon looks down in surprise as she slips her hands underneath the material, her fingers touching his bare chest. He hisses.

“If you planned to ruin this,” he says, voice guttural, “what was the point of getting it for me?”

Daenerys shrugs. “Because I knew you’d look good in it,” she informs him. And it’s true. There is no better sight than Jon in this red Essosi style tunic, looking every bit like some prince who wishes to steal her away to some exotic lands. “And it’s easier to take off than your usual clothes.”

Jon drags her mouth back to his in a searing kiss before whispering against her lips, “I should test this with your dress as well.”

It’s no surprise that her dress is the easiest thing to take off. Jon only has to push the straps off her shoulders and the upper part falls down, the belt at her waist holding the rest of the material up. He lets out a heavy breath as his gaze travels from her collarbones to her breasts, the peaks pebbled and straining for his mouth.

But instead of resuming their heated kisses, Jon looks horrified.

Dany looks down and— _oh._

The scar.

Jon’s face pales and a haunted look crosses his eyes and Daenerys begins shaking her head, trying to pull him out before he loses himself. “Jon, look at me. I’m here. It’s alright,” she whispers, touching his face.

“No,” he chokes out, pushing her hand away gently and then sliding out of her grasp, walking to the opposite side of the room.

Daenerys sighs quietly, pulling her dress back up as she turns to look at him. He seems distraught, running his hand through his hair. “I did this to you,” he says, mostly to himself, “I’d been betrayed before. By people I trusted. And I told you about it and I remember all those nights you comforted me about my scars and – and I did the same thing to you that they did to me.”

The words sting right through her heart like venom and Daenerys has to clench her jaw to relieve the sudden rush of pain. Jon looks disturbed, pacing the room wildly, as if he is only now realising what he did. She swallows roughly, trying to find the words. “I know,” she ends up saying, “I thought about it too. About all of it. We can’t change the past, Jon, no matter how much we want to. These people killed you when you did the right thing. You killed me because I was doing the wrong thing and I would’ve kept doing it. I’ve realised this over the years.”

When Jon does not answer, she goes to him, forcing him to look into her eyes. His own are filled with unshed tears. “What do you want me to tell you?” she asks softly. “I’ve gone through all the emotions that I had to. I was angry. Furious. I hated what I met you, hated that I fell in love with you. I tried to hate _you_. That did not work out well because Rhaella was the proof that loving you was not one of the wrong things I did.” She leans up to kiss him softly. “All that’s left to do now is move on,” she says.

Jon kisses her tenderly and in one sweep, he’s wrapping his arms under her thighs and hauling her into his arms, Dany’s gasp of surprise lost in their kisses. She holds onto his neck as he carries her to his bed, putting her down onto it as if she is the most precious thing ever.

Her throat closes when he hovers above her and she sees how he is looking at her. Teary-eyed but his gaze remains full of love, regret and raw desire. This time when he pulls her gown down, he immediately brings his head down to press a kiss on the scar.

The images threaten to burst in Dany’s head again, his dagger piercing through her—

She shakes her head, pinching her eyes shut.

_No._

She refuses to let the ghosts win this time.

Instead, she clutches her head to her chest and lets him pepper kisses across the skin.

This is real. This is now. The past doesn’t have to haunt her forever, she doesn’t deserve this and neither does he.

Her heart is pounding, full of life and energy, when his mouth closes over the scar. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs brokenly against her skin, “I’m _so_ sorry.”

She focuses on his sweet voice, on his hands massaging her sides and his mouth on her flesh and starts to forget the past. It’s just him and her. Here. Now.

Daenerys forces Jon to meet her in another kiss, tongues entwining hotly as she pushes his tunic off, sliding her palms across his naked skin. He used to always feel cold to the touch but tonight he is burning with the same fire that lives inside of her.

 It doesn’t take long to rid each other of their clothes and he settles between her legs, capturing a breast inside his mouth to feast on as she writhes underneath him, wrapping her legs around his torso and moaning as he teases her nipple with his teeth and tongue, releasing it with an obscene pop. “You’re so beautiful,” he says hoarsely, kissing his way down her stomach.

As much as she enjoys the sweet nothings whispered against her skin and the feeling of his lips and beard scraping down her body, tonight she needs something else. She needs them fused together, needs to forget all the built-up pain and anger she’d kept inside her for so long. She needs it all released. She manages to choke it out, “Please, Jon. I—I need—”

“I know,” he assures her, looking up at her from between her thighs, where she is dripping with want for him. She squirms as he pries her thighs apart with his calloused hands. “I know what you need but I need a taste first,” he whispers, breath fanning over her slit.

When his tongue swipes across her folds, once, Daenerys’ back arcs from the bed and a drawn-out moan moves past her lips. Jon groans at her taste and buries his face in her cunt, nose bumping into her sensitive bundle of nerves as he sucks and licks at her like a man starved. Dany’s legs lock around his shoulders as she yelps in surprise, the sensations too much to handle, bright stars exploding behind her eyelids.

She pulls at his hair, a strangled, “Please, I need _you_ ,” emerging from her lips.

Jon understands what she means and he pulls away from her, kissing her inner thigh as he crawls back up her body. Daenerys shamelessly grabs his face, meshing their lips together, tasting herself on his tongue and both groaning at it.

Jon pulls away to look into her eyes as he grabs himself in hand, rubbing the head of his cock along her slit, her mouth opening in a silent moan at the friction.

“Is that alright?” he asks, voice strained with lust.

 He interlaces their fingers together, a sweet act that he used to do, pressing both of their hands into the mattress as he slowly pushes inside of her.

Dany searches for his mouth to kiss as she adjusts to him. The moment he starts moving inside of her, everything disappears. Nothing but the feeling of him inside of her – filling her, completing her – and the sweet sounds of their coupling matter. He buries his face into her neck, biting on her skin as he ruts into her. Dany keens, legs snaking around him as she lifts herself up to meet his thrusts.

Her name falls from his lips in incoherent sentences, his Northern burr still having the same effects on her, her walls clenching around his length as he fucks her slowly but thoroughly. He is everywhere at once, from the smell of him infiltrating her senses to his hands tightly clutching his. She buries her head deeper into the bed, eyes closing as she feels pleasure boil in her stomach, a familiar flutter echoing through her veins.

"Look at me, love." She hears him say, the sound of his voice mixed with the drumming of her heart and the wet sounds of skins slapping together. 

She opens her eyes to meet his and it's all so familiar, the way he's looking at her, his hand coming to stroke the side of her face reassuringly, lovingly.

As her climax bubbles to the surface, it all comes back to her. Their first meeting, their love, the revelation of his parentage, how they fell apart, his betrayal…. She clutches him to her chest as they ride their highs together, Jon grunting against her skin as his movements grow erratic and uncoordinated, his seed filling her cunt. Daenerys closes her eyes, too many emotions emerging from all parts of her soul. He collapses on top of her and Dany cradles his head against her chest, fingers woven through his hair as they silently recover.

Before going back in her bedchamber, Jon slips out of her and pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her petite body. Daenerys burrows her face into his chest, feeling his heart beating wildly against her ear. His fingers slide into the mess her hair has become, long digits sliding through the waves of silver that are pooling around them.

The night is quiet when he whispers, "You know that I will always choose you, right? No matter what happens from now on...I will not let any harm come to you or Rhaella. I made that mistake once and I will never do it again. It's always going to be you, Dany." She finally breaks, tears spilling uncontrollably from her eyes. He holds her, and weeps too, kissing her hair and all over her face, each caress of his lips against her skin a silent promise that they will be okay.

She does not believe in vows anymore but she lets herself drown in him, holds him closer for a while longer, hoping that this is all not too good to be true. She allows herself to be vulnerable again after a long time and shows him precisely how broken she truly is. 

Perhaps him being just as broken is why their pieces fit so perfectly together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone's writing hot smut meanwhile i went for some angsty smut because.....why not. and once again a thank you to the user Anitah for this pretty moodboard which i felt fit this chapter quite nicely :D
> 
> anyway problems are coming so get ready for that. (but also for a very happy ending, i'd never try to hurt anyone more than s8 already has so don't worry).


	8. JON

The first thing Jon wonders when he wakes up is whether last night was a dream. Whether he really had Daenerys underneath him, panting and moaning his name like she once had, kissing him like she used to and looking at him with the adoration she once felt. Hell, he even considers that he might have never left the Wall, that he never came to find her in Essos but that this was all a sick game his haunted brain was playing on him. But when he turns over on his feather bed, he can smell her everywhere from his pillow to his fingers, as if she’s crawled under his skin and infiltrated all his senses – not that he’d mind that one bit.

He smiles to himself then, knowing that it was all very real.

She left after a while so as not to leave Rhaella alone and he’d found himself sleeping more soundly than he had in a _very_ long while. Sated and satisfied.

And for the first time in many years, he did not have any nightmares about her.

He joins Daenerys in the kitchen when he is done getting ready and for a second he just stands there staring at her as she occupies herself with getting the table ready for breakfast. On this rather gloomy and rainy day, she is wearing a long-sleeved purple dress, more decent than her usual flimsy gowns that quite literally make his eyes pop out of their sockets, but no less lovely. Her long hair cascades down her back and the sight sends Jon back to the previous night, the memories of burying his fingers deep inside the silver waves as he made love to her vivid in his head. The thought stirs something awake in him.

He must have made a sound or a movement because she looks up suddenly, her eyes widening. “You scared me,” she breathes out.

He can’t resist the need to grab her and kiss her pretty little mouth. So he does just that. Crosses the room to grab her arms and pull her into him, capturing her muffled gasp of surprise with his mouth. Daenerys smiles against his lips and kisses him back just as sweetly, cupping his cheeks with her hands as she opens her mouth to him. Jon finds it insufferable that he is _this_ easily aroused just from kissing her. A wild, unbidden thought of having her right there and then crosses his mind. To have her wrap her legs around his torso, let the glasses and plates shatter as he drops her round arse onto the table, forcing her to lie down before feasting on her. He wonders how she tastes in the morning, wonders if she’d scream his name.

Dany is the voice of reason when she pulls away from him with an annoyed grunt. “You do realise we have a daughter who could walk in on _this_? How will you explain what we were doing to her then, hm, Jon?”

Jon smiles sheepishly, kissing her one last time on the lips before unwrapping his arms from her and stepping away. “My apologies. I couldn’t resist it, though. I’ve woken up most days to you wandering around in one of your taunting dresses without being able to touch you. Only so much a man can take.”

She guffaws. “I thought last night made up for that, didn’t it?”

“It’s been five years, Dany,” he deadpans. “At least ten more years of lovemaking will be needed to make up for that.”

Her jaw hangs open as she uses a cleaning cloth to slap him on the chest, making him laugh and wince playfully. “Keep it down,” she scolds. “I have no interest in adding 'lovemaking' to Rhaella’s vocabulary. You know how curious your daughter is.”

Despite the jest, Jon realises he’ll never get tired of hearing Rhaella being referred to as _his_ daughter.

The curly-haired girl joins them to eat moments later, eyes sparkling in delight when she realises that they are having bacon. When she jumps on Jon’s lap, Daenerys gives her a teasing smile as she takes her own seat. “Ever since your father came around, you seem to be playing favourites, Rhaella,” Dany jokes.

Rhaella shakes her head firmly. “I still love you ma,” she declares proudly.

Jon kisses Rhaella’s temple. “But you love me more,” he presses, earning an eye roll from Dany.

“No!” Rhaella exclaims.

Daenerys laughs, digging into her food.

Jon huffs. “Fine. Then maybe your mother should be the one teaching you how to ride a horse.”

“That is not fair,” Rhaella whines. “I love you both!”

“We’ll take it,” Daenerys agrees, grinning.

“Maybe one day,” Rhaella starts after a few seconds of peaceful silence, “we could all go to Westeros and father could show me his white wolf.”

Jon doesn’t miss the way Daenerys’ smile falls at the mention of Westeros, her grip on the spoon tightening. “That’s…a lovely thought, honey, but we can’t go to Westeros,” she answers, a hint of sadness in her voice. “Not now, not ever.”

Rhaella scowls, her bright eyes finding Jon’s questioningly. “But you were there all these years. Why can’t we go back one day?”

“I came here for you,” Jon says softly, “why would we go there when we’re all happy here? Aren’t we?”

“Yes but…” she trails off, pouting. “I wanted to see a wolf.”

“The North is cold and not pleasant to live in,” Jon confesses. “You would hate it there.”

“I can’t hate it if I don’t know it.”

“We’re not going anywhere, Rhaella,” Daenerys states firmly now, lips thinning. “This is our home.”

“Well, being at home gets boring sometimes,” their daughter huffs.

A tense silence settles in after that as Jon watches hurt flash across Dany’s features. He wants to say something but he knows he can’t. How can he possibly explain to Rhaella why Daenerys will never be able to take her to Westeros? Instead, he tries to lighten the mood by speaking of other things while they eat. Rhaella easily forgets about the conversation but Dany remains quiet, head bowed thoughtfully.

When Rhaella leaves for her harp lessons, Jon goes to Daenerys, finding her perched on the edge of the window in her bedchamber, her knees pulled up to her chin. She looks younger like this, silver hair spilling all over her in soft curls as she stares at the storm brewing outside.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

She looks up, smiling, although it doesn’t reach her eyes. Jon sighs.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “It’s such a shame that the weather is this bad today. I was planning on making a trip to the—”

“Dany,” he cuts off her rambling, a known way of distracting him, “Rhaella is just a child. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. When she gets older, I’m sure she’ll be thanking you for having protected her for so long.”

She frowns. “I want her to have a happy childhood. I wish she could travel like she wants to. But I don’t know how to explain everything to her.”

“How _we_ ’ll explain it to her. We will do it together when the right time comes,” he says, walking up to her and kneeling by her side. Daenerys stares down at him with a softened look, a small smile tugging at her lips. Jon cradles her hands in his own and presses a kiss to each of her knuckles. “When the right moment comes, she shall know everything but until then we’ll do what’s best to protect her, even if for the time being she doesn’t understand that.”

She interlaces their fingers together, exhaling tiredly. “Sometimes she asks me things I don’t have the answers to. She loves hearing about the Targaryens but how do I tell her what her own mother's legacy is?”

“When one day she is old enough to find out, she will also learn about the great deeds her mother did. The extraordinary things she did.”

“And her father,” Daenerys says, lifting her left hand to touch his cheek lovingly.

“It’s one hell of a story though,” Jon reflects light-heartedly, “Both parents got resurrected and fought in a war against the Dead.”

Daenerys laughs at the dark joke and Jon relaxes, enjoying the fact that the worry lines on her forehead have disappeared. He just wants to see her happy. Now and always. “You’re right,” she sniffs. “Maybe we’ll need to wait quite a long time before throwing all of this information at her.”

Jon pulls her in for a kiss, savouring the sweetness of her lips. She tastes of the honeyed biscuits they ate earlier and something distinctively her that makes him deepen the kiss, wishing to drown in that taste forever. Daenerys parts her lips, welcoming his intruding tongue inside as Jon drags her down to his lap, both chuckling as she finds herself straddling him on the floor.

She pushes both hands on his chest, stalling his movements. “We shouldn’t,” she murmurs. “Rhaella might be done with her harp lessons soon…” But she does the exact opposite of stopping, a seductive glint in her amethyst eyes as she grinds her hot core on his covered, hardening cock, drawing a grunt from him.

“You’re not really helping your cause,” he growls out, hands gripping her hips to try and stop her but involuntarily pressing her down harder onto him, both gasping at the feel, annoyed at the layers between them.

Daenerys gives him a wicked look, pressing her mouth to his lips and then his neck, sucking on the stuttering pulse there, dragging her sharp teeth over his skin and leaving a trail of fire behind. Jon swallows thickly, his fingers combing through her hair. “I can make it quick,” she whispers against his skin, nipping at his throat teasingly before pulling back.

Jon has the urge to flip her over and show her just how quick and hard he can take her. But Daenerys seems to be in a controlling mood today, dark eyes boring into his as she pushes on his chest until he is the one on the floor.

Her fingers make quick work on the laces of his pants and Jon barely has the time to take in a deep breath that she is already wrapping her small hands around his cock. He groans, his head falling back with a loud and painful thud. The ache is long forgotten as she gives his length a few pumps and his world comes crashing down when he feels her hair tickle his thighs when she bends down to take him in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the leaking tip.

Jon nearly whimpers at the sensation of her hot, wet mouth sucking on his cock. He dares a glance at her and it’s a fatal mistake, for the way her violet eyes meet his mischievously as she wraps her lips around him, bobbing her head up and down, is almost enough to undo him on the spot. 

A strangled moan leaves his lips, his stomach tensing with the building release. “Dany—” he chokes the two syllables out.

She finally takes him out of her mouth, her lips swollen as she gazes down at him lustfully. “You have to be quiet,” she orders and he curses her under his breath. She knows damned well what she is doing to him and expects him to be fucking quiet. 

She slithers out of her trousers and smallclothes, her dress bunched up at her hips as she lines herself with him. They both moan when Dany grips him, rubbing her slit with the tip of his cock, coating him with her wetness before finally sinking down on him.

_Yes._

Last night was sweet, careful lovemaking as they both tried to come back to each other and fight the horrors of the past, lost in one another’s gazes and holding each other when they came. Today is fast and needy and messy. All the pent-up frustrations and the years they spent apart pouring in the way he thrusts up into her and she takes it, her mouth opening in a silent cry as she rides him with abandon. She loses balance, her nails digging into his chest as they fuck wildly, trying to be quiet the best they can but probably failing at doing so quite miserably.

Jon reaches down, under her crumpled dress, to find the swollen nub and rubbing it – watching as her mouth goes slack, eyes pinched shut at the pleasure. She looks ethereal here with her hair a halo around her head, a light sheen of sweat coating her forehead and neck and her cheeks rosy all while her sweet cunt is filled up with him. His heart is pounding and Jon knows he is going to come soon so he strums at her clit faster, holding her hips with his right hand as he pounds into her.

“Jon,” she cries out sharply before she can hold it back, her slick walls convulsing and gripping him as his own orgasm shoots through him with the force of a thousand blades. She falls on top of him lifelessly, as his thrusts grow shallower until they’ve both ridden their highs. Her breath coming out in heavy puffs against his neck.

“That was not very quiet of you, my love,” he whispers in her ear, kissing her damp skin. The room smells of them now, her juices are still running down his thighs yet he makes no effort to get up from the cold ground, only wrapping his arms around her as she laughs.

Daenerys lifts her head to look at him, her eyes dazed and mouth thoroughly bruised from his kisses. “Do you love me?” she blurts.

Jon snorts at the unexpected query, especially in their current state. “I—of course, what kind of question is that?”

She traces his jaw with her fingertips. “I want to hear you say it,” she says quietly.

Jon gulps. “I love you,” he tells her truthfully. “I don't think I ever stopped. I haven’t told you so again because I was afraid you were not ready to hear it or that you did not _want_ to hear it. But aye, I do love you, Daenerys. More than anything.”

Daenerys’ eyes soften at his words, her smile honest and open. “I love you,” she says quietly, kissing him gently.

Jon’s heart swells and he has this sudden, unexplainable urge to ask her to marry him. It wouldn’t change a thing but he wants her to be his wife, he wants her to be _his_ —officially _._ Out of all the things he may not have wanted in his life, Dany is not part of that list. He feels selfish and possessive about her, especially after everything they’ve endured. He wants her and this home and their child. _And more children,_ he admits to himself internally. He wants good things for them.

But he’s afraid this might be too much right now, especially after they’ve just talked about their feelings openly after so long.

He’ll wait a while longer for the marriage question.

+

“Do you think Rhaella understands what we are now?” Dany asks him quietly one night, tucked under his arm, her head resting against his chest.

He hums distractedly, his fingers tracing down her forearm. “I mean she saw us kissing many times now. I don’t know what she understands by that but she seems very happy about our relationship.”

“To be fair, she caught us kissing because you are bad at being discreet.”

Jon huffs. But admittedly, she’s not lying.

He finds himself slowly succumbing to sleep before she shifts in his arms. Every night it’s the same thing, she comes to him and they make mindless love on almost every surface in this room and then cuddle up to each other before she leaves to go back to her own bedchamber. She presses a light kiss on his brow. “Maybe you should come sleep in my room now,” she murmurs.

Jon watches her through heavy lids and smiles tiredly. “That’d be a good idea,” he says, “but we’ll have to find somewhere else to fuck.”

She laughs loudly at his crass words, pushing on his chest playfully as she gets up. Jon keeps his eyes on her lovely form in that breath-taking sleeping gown as she slips out his door, remembering how soft it felt in between his fingers when he took it off to kiss the skin underneath. Daenerys would really be the death of him and he would welcome it.

He falls asleep with serene and happy thoughts, his heart healing with each passing day.

+

Even if he won Daenerys back, Jon does not stop trying to make everything better for her. He remembers how she used to tell him about the fading memory of her childhood house with a red door—and how she could see a lemon tree from her bedroom window.

So, he decides to make that last part come true.

He doesn’t know why she hasn’t done it already. He’s not entirely sure if the trees will grow big and whether they’ll be eating lemon cakes soon but he plants a few seeds anyway, calling for Daenerys when he’s done.

“What is it?” she asks, walking up to him in the yard with a confused expression.

“I don’t know if it’ll take but I thought this would be a nice place to grow lemon trees, don’t you think?” he asks, smiling knowingly.

Daenerys’ eyes flash in recognition, glancing at her bedchamber’s window just next to them. “A lemon tree outside of my window,” she reflects softly.

“Now you have it all, a house with a red door and a lem—”

She is in his arms before he can finish the sentence, her mouth crashing down on his with a force that causes him to lose balance and stagger backwards before he wraps his arms around her, lifting her in the air as he kisses her back just as fiercely. When he slowly puts her down again, she is beaming with a childlike wonder. “What can I do for you?” she asks.

Jon brushes a strand of hair from her face, tilting his head sideways. “What does that mean?”

“You’re right. This is the house of my dreams, the childhood I’d never known. And I have you and Rhaella. This could not get more perfect so what can I do for you? What’s something that would make this feel more like home for you as well? Something you always wished for but never had?”

“I never thought I’d have a home or a family again,” he admits. “A few months ago, I was beyond The Wall, Dany, my will to live fading with every breath I took. _This_ is more than I could’ve asked for in a thousand lifetimes.”

+

Unfortunately, their little paradise-filled bubble does not last long.

One day he is tending to the crops in the gardens when Daenerys’ handmaiden, Ilyssa, comes running to him with a frightened look on the young woman’s face.

“What is it?” Jon asks her, dropping the bucket of water he was carrying for the plants.

“I was at the market a-and these men…Westerosi people came to the village. They were looking for Daenerys.”

Jon feels the air being knocked out of his lungs. “What happened then?”

She begins tearing up. “They started questioning p-people and asking whether t-they’ve heard about Daenerys or…you. They’re offering gold and silver to anyone who can give them valuable information. There was a dwarf among them.”

Jon’s eyes grow wide. _Tyrion?_ No. It couldn’t be. “What do you mean? What are they even—”

“I don’t know!” she exclaims. “You need to get Daenerys and Rhaella to leave. They will eventually find out about this place, I feel like it is only a matter of time now.”

Jon feels the blood pounding in his veins as he registers the gravity of the situation. In a matter of seconds, he is barging in Daenerys’ bedroom, finding her quietly sewing on her bed. She looks up, raising a brow. “Are you okay—”

“We need to go,” he says rapidly, “Now. Get up.” He is moving towards her while she still seems confused and he grabs her arms, practically dragging her along with him.

“What? Jon, what’s wrong?” she asks, gasping at the strength of his hold.

“They found us—you. I don’t know. People are coming here, Dany, and you need to get Rhaella and leave,” he says, voice frantic.

Panic fills her lovely eyes. “But—but where do we go?” she asks, voice high. “How—who—”

“I don’t know,” he says, a bit too loudly. At her flinch, he deflates guiltily. His concern is getting the best of him. He grabs her face in both of his hands, meeting her fearful gaze. “Pack some things. Take Rhaella. Take a horse. And just go. Go to the village, go _anywhere._ Nothing else matters, for now, you just have to get out of here.”

Daenerys seems to finally be swallowing the news, her eyes turning sharp as she nods hurriedly. “You’re right.”

As she begins stuffing her clothes together, she turns to Jon, “Why are you standing here? Won’t you do the same?”

Jon considers it for a moment. Hopping on a horse and both of them running away, finding a new place to live and starting over again. But will that truly solve anything? He doesn’t know how the others even managed to find out about her. And if they did once, they can do it again.

How long will they be safe for? A month, a year? What happens the next time something like this comes up again? They leave their new home and begin to run once more?

He didn’t protect her once. But the gods have given him—them—a second chance. He will not mess it up again. He holds Dany’s cheek, tenderly caressing her soft skin before pulling her down for a little kiss. “I told you I would protect you,” he whispers against her mouth, “let me do it.”

Horror fills her eyes as she understands his words. “I thought you were done being a heroic fool,” she says, eyes glittering with tears. “Come with us.”

“You think I don’t want to?” he whispers. “But we can’t move forward without facing the past.”

She nods, trapping her lower lip between her teeth. “I don’t want to lose you again,” she says quietly. “Don’t let me lose you again.”

“I found you once, I can do it again,” he tells her lightly, although his heart is heavy. “I love you.”

“I love you as well.”

Jon asks her to wait as he needs to retrieve something from his room. When he comes back with a dagger, Daenerys’ breath hitches in her throat.

“That does bring bad memories,” he acknowledges regretfully as he turns the blade towards him, handing her the handle. “Take it with you. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

Daenerys gently grasps it from his hand. “I won’t,” she assures him.

“Where are we going?” Their little girl asks when Jon and Dany come to get her, her eyes wide with wonder as Daenerys begins gathering her belongings.

Jon picks his daughter up easily, giving her a tight smile that he hopes doesn’t look like a grimace. “On an adventure,” he offers untruthfully. “But we’ll need to leave now.”

“Wait! Let me take my dolls,” she says.

The innocence she displays makes Jon’s chest ache.

He ushers them through the back door and helps Dany climb on her white horse, placing Rhaella in her arms carefully.

She looks like she wishes to say more, moisture pooling in her amethyst eyes but Jon knows Daenerys is smart enough to do what she needs for her daughter. She doesn’t have time to argue with him now but she gives him a fierce look. “You’ll come back to me,” she pleads. “To _us_. Right?”

“I will,” he swears.

“He’s not coming?” Rhaella questions, frowning. “What’s happening? Why are you not coming with us? You promised you wouldn’t leave anymore.”

Jon’s heart completely breaks at his daughter’s voice, the fright and despair in her eyes. He kisses her forehead, willing himself not to cry. “It’s alright, we’ll see each other soon.”

He looks at Rhaella one last time as her big eyes find his, confusion and curiosity mixed in their depths. And sadness as well. Daenerys kicks the horse into a gallop when he steps away from them and Jon stares as Dany’s back fades from his line of sight…but before she disappears behind the trees, she looks back at him one last time.

His heart kicks against his chest. This look is all the motivation he needs to fight until he finds them again.

+

Jon has never hated seeing Tyrion more than he does when he ends up finding him, only a day after Daenerys and Rhaella have departed. 

He’s changed considerably. His beard is now almost white, his eyes exhausted and is it just Jon or has he lost some hair too? Jon watches attentively as he gets off his horse. He is accompanied by some Lannister soldiers and, much to his distaste, even some Northerners. Knowing the North is independent, Jon guesses that Sansa sent his own men to help Bran track them down.

The moment he is on the ground, he turns around and orders, “Search the place.”

When the guards disperse, Tyrion faces Jon once more. “Out of everything I thought you were,” he begins, “a liar was never on my list.”

Jon meets his gaze defiantly, his arms crossed over his chest.

Tyrion exhales an agitated breath. “Why did you want us to think you were dead, Jon?”

Jon shrugs. “I thought I’d get into trouble for escaping my punishment of being sent to the Night’s Watch. It just turns out I like it better here, it’s warmer and—”

“She’s not here,” one of the men announces.

“Where is she?” Tyrion inquires to Jon directly. 

Jon doesn’t budge. “Who?”

Tyrion breathes through his nose. “I’ve grown to like you, Jon. You’re one of the best men I ever met. You’ve always known to differ between right and wrong. The right thing to do right now, as per your King’s command, is to tell me the truth. How is Daenerys Targaryen still alive?”

 _The right thing to do is to protect my daughter and the woman I love whom I’ve once betrayed_ , Jon thinks _. The right thing to do is to protect my family._

“How did you find out _I_ was alive?” Jon answers Tyrion’s question with one of his own.

Tyrion says, “After Tormund spread the word that you died, Sansa delivered the message to Bran. You have to admit it’s suspicious that your friend couldn’t disclose more details about the manner that you died and couldn’t even answer questions about where your body was.” The dwarf gives him a sarcastic smile, “Oh and I got Tormund really drunk and then he said, ‘I miss the sun in Essos. I bet my little crow is having the time of his life there right now’.”

_Dammit, Tormund. You and your drunkenness._

Jon tries to give nothing away with his expression. “Well, I admit it. I came here and ended up liking the place more than I thought I would and decided I should stay.”

“You came here upon hearing a rumour about Daenerys being alive,” Tyrion corrects, “and you stayed because it was true. Bran had been trying to locate Drogon for a while after he flew with her body. And then he stopped being spotted. We all assumed he took his mother to some land far away from Westeros but that’s not the case, is it? She's been resurrected. Somehow.”

Somewhere inside of him, Jon knows it’s useless to keep on denying it. One way or the other they’ll learn the truth. But he’s not one to accept defeat without a fight so he shakes his head once. “You’re right, I did hear about a rumour of her being alive. But it wasn’t true.”

Tyrion gives him an incredulous look. “You’re digging yourself a deeper hole here,” he sighs. “Bran Stark asked me to bring Daenerys to him. He is my King, he is _your_ King. We all granted you mercy instead of killing you, like all of Daenerys’ men wanted to.”

“Mercy?” Jon asks, unable to believe what he was saying. “You call that mercy? Daenerys begged me not to tell the truth to my family but I did. Because I owed them that much because I wanted them to know the truth about their father. And the first thing my sister, the daughter of the honourable Ned Stark, does is run her mouth to a Lannister.” Jon spits the words out, enjoying the way Tyrion’s face tightens at the mention of his family name with disdain. “But I take some of the blame too. I should’ve been there for Dany, I should’ve not left her alone in that bad mental state but I did. And I’m not saying she’s innocent either. But then you and all the rest—you all used me to get rid of her. You never cared what would happen to me afterwards, don’t act like you tried to bring me mercy. It would’ve been better if one of Daenerys’ men planted a knife in my chest than having to realise that my family never tried to fight for me as I fought for them.”

Jon’s chest is heaving after he finishes, a tight knot wrapping around his heart. It feels good to let all of that out, feels great to watch Tyrion’s face be drained of colour. The dwarf takes a beat before speaking. His eyes hold a certain understanding when he looks up at Jon. “You’re not going to tell us where she is, will you?” he says, more of a realisation than a question.

Jon keeps his mouth shut as he returns Tyrion’s challenging gaze.

The dwarf ends up nodding at last. “Very well,” he says. Pauses and then, "Seize him."


	9. DANY / JON

By the time night falls, Daenerys’ thighs are sore from riding. She hasn’t stayed on a horse for so long since…well, since she was a _khaleesi._ That was literally and figuratively a lifetime ago. Her mane is getting tired too, its steps slowing down to a light gallop as they reach a nearby village. Daenerys’ arms feel numb, holding Rhaella in the right one and guiding the horse with the other is a difficult task. But despite all of her physical discomfort, there’s a much greater emotional despair in her heart.

_Jon._

They are separated once more. Somehow, a hollow part of her soul that had endured enough losses for a thousand lives knew that the life they were living was too simple to last for two people like them. She understands why he made the decision to let them go and it warms her heart that he’s so determined to do what it takes to protect them now but none of that makes his absence easier. He might be in danger, she thinks. He might never find them again.

“Rhaella?” Daenerys asks gently.

She shifts in her arms. “Yes?” her little voice says. And then, “I’m so tired, ma. Can we stop?”

Daenerys glances at the moon and back to the dark roads she can barely see. “Yes,” she agrees. “But we need to find a place to sleep.”

After a few more minutes, they end up near a small – and seemingly abandoned – cottage next to a river. Daenerys is too tired to find a better place and the moment she gets off her horse, she almost collapses at how weak her legs have gotten, her back aching from having stayed in that position for hours now. She helps Rhaella down and the little girl looks frightened and nervous.

Daenerys clutches her hand. “Hey, we’ll be okay,” she whispers to her daughter, even managing a small smile.

The little nod Rhaella gives in reply breaks Dany’s heart. _I was the same age on the run with Viserys…I promised not to let you live a life like this. Yet here we are._ Bitter tears sting her eyes, the dreadful feeling of being a bad mother seeping once more in her bones. She takes her things and carries Rhaella to the cottage, her left hand slowly gripping the knife Jon gave her as she pushes the door open. It creaks and then there is only silence.

“Is there someone here?” Daenerys asks aloud. No answer.

She huffs, dropping the clothes she was carrying and rolling her shoulders to relieve some of the dull ache that settled there. 

“We’ll just sleep here and get moving tomorrow,” Dany tells Rhaella. They could go to Daario’s place _. And then what?_ For now, she does not have an answer, the exhaustion too much to handle.

They snuggle up together on a stack of clothes on the floor. Outside, the leaves are rustling. Rhaella looks up from Dany’s chest, her normally bright eyes tainted with the darkness of fear. “Will Jon return to us?” she asks. “Will we go back home?”

Daenerys’ throat constricts. “I…” she trails off for a second, not knowing how to respond to this without giving her too much hope or not enough. “I know I’ll do what I must to bring us back home. And I told you, Jon is a very good and brave man. I don’t doubt that he is also doing his best to return to us.”

“Why did we leave?” Rhaella inquires.

Dany shuts her eyes. “There are many things that I haven’t told you, Rhaella. About me…about your father. Not because I want to hide them from you but because for now, it’s safer the less you know. One day I’ll tell you everything you wish to know. Everything. But until then you must know that there are not only good people in this world.”

She frowns at her, “Are there bad people after us?”

Daenerys touches her cheek. “Something like that,” she says, sighing to herself. “It’s hard to explain. All I know is I’m not going to let any harm come to you, love, so don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. I know you’ll always protect me.” She hugs herself tighter against Dany’s body, resting her head on top of her chest and Daenerys feels herself relax for a brief moment.

“Get some sleep,” she tells her daughter, planting a kiss on top of her head.

Before falling asleep, Daenerys thinks of Jon one last time. She doesn’t know where he is—or how he is but she uses the little faith she has in the gods above to pray that they’ll find each other again, soon, and that everything will be okay. 

When her eyes fall shut, she dreams of a waterfall and two dragons circling the skies. 

+

“Seize him.”

For a second, Jon thinks he’s misheard Tyrion. But when the guards begin approaching him the words finally sink in.

“Are you serious?” he asks. “Is this what it’s come to? My own brother wants to take me prisoner?”

“Of course not,” Tyrion says gently. “Bran asked for Daenerys to be brought back to him. But we can’t leave you here if you won’t tell us the truth, that was also his order. I doubt you’ll be coming willingly.”

“Why? Why does he want _me_?”

Instead of answering, Tyrion shoots another query, “Remember when you told me that what you did to Daenerys…didn’t feel right?”

Jon nodded as an answer.

“And I said—”

“—To ask you again in ten years,” Jon finished for Tyrion, the memory still vivid and bitter in his head. 

The dwarf bowed his head. “It’s only been half that time but let me tell you it doesn’t feel right for me either.”

Jon laughs humourlessly, face twisting away from him.

“I’m serious,” Tyrion says. “I thought that killing Daenerys and making Bran King was what she always meant by breaking the wheel but it’s still all the same. The crown is in dept, Sansa is struggling in the North, there are rumours of _uprisings…_ ” He grimaces at the last word, tone turning dramatic. “Have you looked at me? Look at what stress did to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Jon asks because he doesn’t see how this concerns him—or even Daenerys.

“There won’t be peace for long, according to Bran,” Tyrion says darkly.

“Well, then he’ll have to deal with it as any King before him previously has,” Jon informs him with a nonchalant shrug. “There’s not much I can do about it.”

“He asked for you.”

“I don’t want to go.” _I have to find Daenerys again, I have to find Rhaella. This is where I belong._

“Why?” There’s a hint of desperation in his voice now. “Gods, Jon, then just tell me the truth about her. Where is Daenerys?”

Jon exhales roughly. “What is it then, Tyrion? If I refuse to come peacefully?”

The dwarf’s eyes fill with regret. “These are the King’s orders. Your brother.” The soldiers behind him begin walking again.

Jon’s fingers twitch. He thought that at last, he would never have to touch Longclaw’s pummel again, that his sword would only remain with him as a memory of the man he had once been, a man he no longer wished to be. He doesn’t like fighting, he never has. And out of all the places in the world – he doesn’t want bloodshed in the backyard of Dany’s house, her _home_.

But he does not want to end up back in Westeros, not when he knows in his heart that his life is here.

While he doesn’t have his loyal sword with him, Jon always keeps a dagger tucked in his boots. In a swift motion, he pulls it out.

“I don’t want to fight,” Jon points out.

Tyrion only frowns but doesn’t stop the men.

+

Daenerys thanks the Old Gods and the New when she manages to find where Daario resides. When he opens the door to her, a flicker of uncertainty crosses his eyes. Probably because she’s wearing a shawl around her hear so he does not immediately recognise her or because he didn’t expect her to come to him. Either way, it disappears and is replaced by a look of shock. “Daenerys?” he whisper-yells.

She nods.

Daario looks down at Rhaella and all the things they’re carrying and seems to understand that trouble has fallen upon them. He takes in a deep breath and lets them in.

“Who’s that?” A feminine voice asks.

Before she can prepare herself, a very naked woman walks out of one of the rooms and Daenerys hears Rhaella’s gasp of surprise before she presses her hands against her daughter’s eyes, shielding her from the sight. The brunette girl blinks at them.

“Gods, I told you to leave,” Daario orders. “ _Now_! Come on.”

The poor woman hurries off to find her clothes and leaves Daario’s house in a haste, her robe not properly tied. Dany finally uncovers Rhaella’s eyes. Daario offers her a sheepish smile. “She’s just a—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Daenerys tells him frankly.

Daario nods. “I assume you two must be tired.”

“Rhaella must be,” Dany answers. Sleeping on the floor was hard for her but she is more concerned about her daughter, who shifted insistently throughout the night, crying in frustration when she couldn’t sleep. “Love, why don’t you let Daario show you a room where you can get some sleep?”

The curly-haired girl nods eagerly, takes Daario’s hand as they leave. Daenerys takes the scarf off, sighing in relief as she lets her hair fall down. It was getting hot in there. When he returns, he’s frowning in concern. “So?”

“People from King’s Landing arrived,” she offers.

Daario lets out a breath. “I mean, I told you at some point it’d happen.”

He did, many a year ago. He told Dany that she should seek revenge—that she was still a dragon. But when Drogon died, the Dragon Queen died with him. “Do you want me to thank you for being right?” she asks, voice taut, exhaustion making her snappier than usual.

Daario examines her face. “What do you plan to do now?” he asks, “Do we elope from here?”

 _We._ Dany’s guts tighten at the word, her mind immediately consumed with memories of Jon. How he found her after all this time, how they managed to be happy – even for just a while. _I found you once, I can do it again,_ Jon told her before leaving. He sounded so sure of himself. But it’s hard to hope when she’s lost so much, it’s hard to do anything but assume the worst. “I can’t leave Jon,” she admits.

Daario’s eyes darken. “Jon?” His tone is inked with disgust. “The man who murdered you—”

“How many times did we go over this?” she asks, exasperated.

“Clearly not enough since you still trust him!”

“He didn’t come with us because he wanted to protect us, he loves his daughter.” She meets his gaze, “He loves me. So yes, I trust him and I’ll find him again.”

“Love?” Daario echoes. “Did that love ever stop him from putting a dagger in your heart? From choosing his family over you?”

Daenerys holds back a flinch. “He regrets what he did,” she says calmly. “As I regret what I’ve done.”

“You did nothing wrong. If he loved you he would’ve seen that.” Daario rolls his eyes. “You defeated a tyrant, you would’ve made the world a better place. You were always meant to conquer it but he weakened you.”

“I became the very thing I swore to destroy,” she tells him, “I killed a tyrant and ended up becoming one. How was that any better?”

“You won Westeros by fire and blood but just like Aegon the Conqueror, you would’ve ruled with peace and prosperity afterwards.”

Daenerys can recall that she wasn’t thinking of peace and prosperity back then, she was thriving off the fear. Daario won’t understand, nobody can. _She_ can’t understand how she was once in that position anymore. But when she was on top of Drogon that day, there was an unquenchable bloodlust that was singing in her veins. She wasn’t herself and to this day, she can’t tell if she would have ever returned to her old self, if she would’ve been able to stop what she was becoming. If Jon had not killed her, she doesn't know if she would have quit doing what she began. Perhaps it was really too late for her, or perhaps she could've been reasoned with. Whatever it is, they'll never know so she tells Daario, “You don’t know that.”

“Well, none of us will because your precious Jon never believed in you and killed you the first chance he got.”

She remembers Jon on Dragonstone, the Jon who’d fallen in love with her—with not just the Queen but the woman, with the person who wished to change the world for the better. “He believed in me more than you ever did,” she says.

“Like I said,” he insists, “he made you weak. He was the reason you lost everything.”

“And he gave me Rhaella,” Dany reminds him sharply. “I would go through it all again if it meant I would have my daughter.” She shakes her head, not understanding how this conversation took such a turn. “That’s beside the point. Jon promised he would come back to us.” Her foolish heart chooses to cling to that vow, even if she told him she doesn’t believe in promises anymore.

“You trust him this much?” Daario asks slowly. “How do you not know this was his doing?”

Her mouth parts in surprise at his words. “ _What_?”

“Maybe this was his plan all along. Maybe _they_ sent him here to find you, maybe—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sneers.

“Don’t be so naïve, Daenerys,” Daario snaps back. “He’s been away from you for five years, what do you really know about this man’s intentions?”

Daenerys knows that Jon cried upon seeing the fatal scar on her chest, she knows that he looks at Rhaella the same way Dany looks at her—like he’d give her the sun itself if he could just to make her happy, she knows that Jon planted a lemon tree for her, a small and silly gesture that managed to touch her heart as if he’d gotten her a crown of gold and rubies. Daenerys knows _Jon_ , she knows that despite everything, he had a good heart and would not hurt her and especially not their child.

“I know his intentions well enough, Daario.” She released a heavy puff of air. “You’re not obligated to help me in any way if you do not wish—”

“I’ll always want what’s best for you,” he cuts her off, moving forward. “So forget him. Be with me. Let’s take Rhaella, find a nice place and get as far away from those who’ve wronged you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love Jon,” she says firmly, “And Rhaella loves him. He’s our family too.”

Daario stares at her for a long while before nodding tersely. “Good luck finding him,” he says, tone dry.

+

“You should eat something.”

“No.”

“We have a long journey ahead and you know at sea it can get—”

“I said _no,_ ” Jon repeats.

Tyrion shuts his mouth after that.

They’re staying at a small village near the docks while Tyrion’s men are preparing the ships. Jon’s mood is foul, ruined. And all he can think of is the Lannister soldier that he killed. The sounds of metal clashing are still replaying in his head, so loud that it hurts. Last night, he could not sleep because of it. Well, that, and because he missed Dany. Whenever he closed his eyes, he hoped that this was just a dream and that he'd wake up next to her or even in his bedchamber alone and look out his window to find her in the garden, tending to her crops in another pretty summer dress that he wanted to take off. Now that he thinks about it, perhaps that was all a dream. It was too sweet, having a nice little house far away from the politics of Westeros, a beautiful daughter that was proof of their magic-filled love and  _Dany._

Now he fears he's just going to be thrown back into the world he left behind - a world of blood, betrayals, backstabbing people....

He wants none of it.

Jon remembers the promise he made to himself years ago when he held Daenerys’ limp body in his arms—he would never kill someone again. He felt so sure of it back then, that he’d never pick up a sword or a weapon to hurt anyone in his life. He was done with fighting, done with the metallic taste and acidic smell of blood that haunted him. He knew he wouldn’t find peace, never expected it, but he knew he was more than ready to give up on violence. 

And then two days ago, he broke that oath. He took out his dagger and fought again. He fought for Daenerys, for Rhaella, for the dream of a home that he had with these two and wanted to find again. But against the dozens of men Tyrion had brought with him and Jon’s skills which grew rusty over the years, he knew it was a lost fight. Still, he couldn’t stop, he plunged his blade in that man’s chest and saw the life leave his eyes. After that Jon backed away, dropping his bloodied dagger and felt disoriented.

When the Lannister – or was it Stark now, since they serve his brother – soldier came forward to drag him up from the ground, the imp stopped him. “We told you, Jon, we don’t want to fight,” he said. But Jon knew what he meant: _come with us and there won’t be more bloodshed._ It wasn’t much of a choice. Jon nodded numbly and agreed to follow them, agreed to sail back to King’s Landing because what else could he do? He couldn’t take on all these men by himself. And he wasn't going to help them find Daenerys. 

“My lord,” a voice says, breaking Jon's trail of thoughts. 

Jon looks up to see one of the soldiers handing Tyrion a bowl. The man eyes Jon sceptically before offering him food too. Jon only turns his head away, stubborn.

“It’s fine. He’ll eat later,” Tyrion says. “Have you found anything?”

“No. We looked in three villages, none of them has spotted a girl with silver hair and blue eyes.”

“Violet.”

“What?”

Tyrion exhales. “Her eyes. They’re violet.”

The bulky man nods once. “Alright. Also, there’s not been a sighting of a dragon.”

Jon turns his head away, refusing to give anything away from his expressions.

“Well, perhaps Bran is right. Drogon must be dead. Thanks, Lance. You should go get some rest. We leave first thing tomorrow,” the dwarf says.

Jon clenches his teeth. They leave tomorrow. He won’t see Dany again. And _Rhaella._ He can picture her smile when they went horse riding together and her laughter, sweet and innocent. A lump forms in his throat. He made a promise to her and he was going to break it. “I don’t want to go to King’s Landing,” he says, not caring for how weak he sounds. “If you want me to leave Essos then let me go back beyond the Wall with Tormund.”

“It’s your brother who requests your presence at King’s Landing. Jon, you’re not a prisoner, he'll let you go once he's done with you.”

“Aye, but I’m not a free man either. Otherwise he wouldn't have sent fucking soldiers with you.”

Tyrion looks like he wishes to say more before he shakes his head and requests, “Walk with me for a second. Let’s clear our heads.”

Jon contemplates it. Tyrion gives him a pressing look. Finally, he huffs and gets up. They walk along the streets and Jon keeps a vigilant eye on the people, his heart palpitating at the thought of finding Daenerys anywhere.

“I always wonder where I went wrong with Daenerys,” Tyrion tells Jon. “To avoid making the same mistakes with Bran.”

“Did you find out?” Jon asks unceremoniously.

“No. I believe it was a build-up of failures as her Hand.”

Jon snorts distastefully at the irony. “Yet here you are, Hand again.”

“I never asked for this.”

“You never turned it down either,” Jon points out.

“I—” Tyrion cuts himself off, not seeming to know how to defend himself. “Well, it’s still a better decision than making Bronn master of coin,” he says light-heartedly.

Jon doesn’t answer to that. Frankly, he doesn’t find himself amused by Tyrion anymore. Times have changed, everyone has changed. If the dwarf thinks he can win him over with some witty quips, Jon will soon let him know how wrong he is. They’re walking in a market now and he can’t help but feel a buzz of nervous energy again, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple at the thought of seeing Daenerys here. He doesn’t know which part of the city she’s in, he doesn’t know to whom she chose to go _._ He keeps gazing everywhere, taking in every face he can see. Merchants are yelling about their products around him and he doesn’t know if that or Tyrion talking is more obnoxious.

“Bran is a difficult King to deal with,” the dwarf is saying at some point. “Joffrey was a cunt. Cersei was evil. Dany—”

Jon looks down at him, his eyes narrowed.

Tyrion presses his lips together. “Daenerys,” he starts again, “was impulsive at times. But they were all people I could understand. Bran is….”

“The Three-Eyed Raven.”

“ _Yes_. It’s complicated. I fear I’ll never get a good grip on his character.”

“I still don’t understand how I’d be of any use if I go with you.”

“Well, _he_ ’s asking for you, not me.”

“You’re his Hand, aren’t you supposed to know what his intentions are?”

Tyrion looks down. “Bran doesn’t like to speak much. And when he does, it’s just confusing.”

Jon couldn’t stop himself from letting a bitter chuckle. “A King and a Hand who do not communicate,” he reflects.

“Who _cannot_. At least I try.” Tyrion sounds defensive.

Jon is slowly understanding that things are not faring well at all in King’s Landing. “No wonder you look like you’ve aged twenty years, my lord.”

Tyrion’s answer goes unnoticed as Jon spots a familiar face in the distance, standing next to a fish merchant. He squints his eyes and _yes,_ it’s Daario. He didn’t spend a lot of time with the man but Jon could still memorise his face. He’s busy in his purchase when, out of the blue, he lifts his head and his eyes clash with Jon’s. There’s a slight furrow in his brows and Jon panics. As much as Jon doesn’t like him, he has a feeling Dany must’ve gone to him when she had no one else to turn to and if he’s here then…

Daenerys could be around.

Everywhere around him, there are still soldiers loyal to Bran. Loyal to the cause of finding her and, undoubtedly, killing her.

He tries to appear nonchalant as he stops walking, looking away from Daario.

Tyrion stops too, giving him a questioning look. “Is there a problem?”

“I’m a bit tired,” Jon lies, although it comes naturally. Tyrion knows Daario and if he sees him, he will question him. If he can stop that from happening, it'll save them all some trouble. “I think we should just retire to the camp. We leave tomorrow, aye?”

Tyrion seems surprised, but pleasantly so at his change of heart. “You won’t try to run off or kill your brother’s men anymore?”

Jon gives him a fake smile. “Well,” he says, “you said it yourself. I’m not a prisoner, am I? If my brother wishes to see me then I suppose I should just go to see what he wants.” He takes in a deep breath. “He is my King after all.”

+

Daenerys is brushing Rhaella’s hair when the little girl asks, “When is he coming back?”

She doesn’t even have to ask about whom Rhaella is speaking. “He will,” Daenerys assures her. “He’ll come back to us.”

“I know. He promised me he will,” she states confidently. “But I miss him already.”

“I know,” Daenerys says as she combs her fingers through Rhaella’s springy curls, reminding her of Jon and the way his hair would fall on his face and how she’d push it away with her fingertips. She can still remember the softness. Her heart tenderly aches. “I miss him too.”

When the door bursts open, it’s almost instinctive for Daenerys to put her hand on the dagger Jon gave her. It’s just Daario, coming back from the market. She relaxes, focusing back on getting rid of the knots in her daughter’s hair. “Have you seen anything unusual?” she can’t help but ask, her heartbeat spiking just at the thought of knowing where Jon is, what he’s doing.

Daario looks at her for a long moment before he blinks away. “No,” he answers, “But I got us chicken for tonight.”

Daenerys’ shoulders slump but she offers him the littlest smile she can manage.

As she helps Daario cook dinner, he tells her, “We’ll need to move soon. It’s been two days that you’re here and we don’t know if they'll be coming.”

She doesn’t respond.

He continues, “Maybe go to Braavos. Find a less populated city.” Daario dares a glance at her. “Waiting is not the right choice.”

“Making hasty decisions isn’t the right choice either,” she says. “I’ve been on the run in my life before. I don’t want my daughter to go through that, is it so bad that I wish to consider other options first?”

“ _What_ other options? I think you’re just waiting around thinking that Jon Snow will come back and tell you everything’s okay,” Daario drawls.

Daenerys puts down the knife she was holding angrily. “Stop with this.”

“It’s the truth. You don’t have three dragons anymore, Daenerys. Not even one. You don’t have an army behind your back. Even if Jon Snow is in danger, how are you going to save him, huh? By asking the enemies who want you dead nicely?”

Although spoken harshly, Daario’s words sting only because they are true. Daenerys is no longer powerful as she once was. All she can do is hide and hope for the best. The realisation is a bucket of cold water to the flame of hope in her chest, hope that things would go back to the way they were with Jon.

Before they can argue more on the matter, three knocks come on the front door.

Daario looks at her sharply. “Lock yourself in the room. And if I don’t come back in a few minutes then get out the window and—”

“I know,” she says hurriedly, following his orders.

Daenerys’ heart is in her throat when she hurries to the bedchamber. She puts a finger to her mouth, signalling Rhaella to stay quiet as she shuts the door, pressing her ear against it to hear who it could be. The feminine voice is distinguishable but what she says isn't and then footsteps are approaching…. Dany reaches for the knife with shaky fingers until Daario says, “It’s Kinvara.”

Dany lets out a breath of relief as she opens the door. The red priestess smiles at her. “It’s unfortunate we meet again under such circumstances,” she says and her eyes move to Rhaella who’s standing behind Dany. “She’s grown quite a bit.”

Rhaella proudly states that she’ll soon be taller than Kinvara. After the light-hearted exchange, Kinvara takes Daenerys apart to discuss more serious matters.

“If we are to be honest,” says Kinvara slowly, “We knew they would eventually find out you’re alive. It took them five years, but it would’ve happened one way or the other.”

Daario can’t keep his mouth shut, as always. “It’s interesting that Jon Snow finds her and then a few months later, Westeros knows she’s alive too.”

“It’s unfortunate,” Daenerys corrects, pinning him with a hard look. “But Jon is not the one to blame for this. Rumours arose before he came and even if him being here was perhaps the last factor that contributed to them looking for me, that’s not on him. Jon said he would leave if I asked him to. But I didn’t. I asked him to stay.” She doesn’t feel bad about it either. She’s been given a second chance at life, why wouldn’t she choose to be happy for once? If the gods meant to take it all away from her, then why bring her back in the first place?

“When you were brought back, I knew there was more to your destiny and a recent visit I got proved me right,” the woman with hair like fire tells Dany.

She frowns in confusion. “I’m not sure I follow. What visit?”

“They’re just outside,” Kinvara professes, a knowing smile on her face. “You won’t believe your eyes.”

She looks up at Daario inquiringly but he shrugs, just as befuddled as she is.

Daenerys doesn’t like suspense. With a stomach tied in knots, she advances toward the door and pulls it open. Her breath hitches at the faces she sees. A man she cannot recognise, that she’s certain she’s never met but next to her, a woman she’s known and admired, an ally from a lifetime ago. Yara Greyjoy faces Daenerys, eyes widening at the sight of her and then a grin breaks across her face.

But the one that makes Daenerys’ knees so weak she feels like she’ll collapse to the ground, the one face that brings tears of a whirlwind of emotions to her eyes is—

“ _Grey Worm_.”


End file.
